


Attending Fuckface Academy

by apollos



Series: The Fuck Universe [2]
Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Bloodplay, Extensive Drug and Alcohol Use, F/M, Fuckface Academy, Graphic Child Abuse, High School AU, Homophobic Language, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2017-12-16 16:13:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 148,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/864002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apollos/pseuds/apollos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Toki Wartooth, a stoner skater boy with a terrible home life, falls in love with the lead guitarist of a grunge band, the beautiful and foreign Skwisgaar Skwigelf. Oh, and the other guys do some stuff, too. AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sunday

**Author's Note:**

> High school AU! This was originally posted on fanfiction.net and that's where I'll be more consistently updating it, but I'm using AO3 literally as an archive because I'm paranoid about purges and convinced that one day AFA will be deleted because the title is not friendly for all audiences.

Toki Wartooth had been alive for sixteen years, one month, one week, and five days, but he would argue that his life did not truly begin until a lazy Sunday afternoon. He had been alive, yes, but he had not been living, or at least had no will to do so. He was a supine teenage boy who wore his hair too long, irking his parents, and who dreamed vaguely of escaping from the suburbs of Florida. He skated and sweated, skinned knees pouring out of ripped jeans, hot sun burning the top of his head and humid air sticking to his skin—not a life worth giving a hundred percent to living, not quite. He hung out with an equally ragtag group of friends, but—he was restless, listless as times, ready to jump out of his own skin. Much like an oppressed princess locked in a looming tower, he was stuck wondering when his life would begin and in a lazy Sunday afternoon he found his answer, even if he had not known it yet.

It had been Murderface who announced the band. Fuckface Academy was rumored to be the next Nirvana or the next TAD amongst the local scene, depending on how obscure you liked your grunge, and they were apparently totally brutal, despite not being a metal band—which had been the first thing Nathan had complained about. Regardless, Murderface burst through the door with excitement exuding off of him, getting Toki amped up in the process. Nathan and Pickles were immune to Murderface's contagious emotional states, as Nathan had the tendency of being apathetic to everything and Pickles of being too high to really care, and did not react to Murderface in any noticeable manner. Nonetheless, Nathan heard the word "grunge", looked up from the magazine he'd been reading prior to Murderface's entrance, and said, "Grunge? Not metal or brutal. So, not worth my time."

"They are called," Murderface said, hands moving up and down with overdramatic emphasis that made a rather stoned Pickles snort hard, "Fucking Fuckface Academy. Tell me that that'sch not brutal as schit. It'sch fucking brutal asch pisch, that'sch what it isch. Pisch, Nathan. Pisch!"

"Yeah, the name's pretty brutal, I wasn't disagreeing with that," Nathan said, "but grunge?"

Murderface continued to babble, ignoring Nathan's protests. "Plusch, Dick knowsch a guy that could get usch in for free," he went on, still accompanying his words with the hand motions—hands tilted on their sides, thumbs sticking straight up, slicing through the air slowly up and down. He looked ridiculous: his hair was frizzy from the high humidity and he was wheezing, out of breath and damp with sweat from the act of running up the stairs and bursting through the door. Pickles couldn't stop giggling every time he looked at Murderface, a calamity he fell victim to often while intoxicated.

Murderface appeared to be quite keen on this band, so Toki leapt in in defense of his friend. "Sounds cool to Toki," he said, inhaling some of the joint Pickles had just passed him. He wasn't even buzzed yet, but was bored, and Pickles always had the best weed. His brother dealt it and Pickles stole it; such was life.

"When's the show?" Pickles asked, drawing out the oin show. Toki wasn't sure if it was because he was stoned or because of his accent, as Pickles and his family were originally from Wisconsin, but he laughed anyway.

"Nescht weekend," Murderface said. "And. We. Are. Going." He punctuated each word with a dramatic slamming of his hands in midair. Toki tried to pass the joint back to Pickles, but Pickles was convulsing with laughter in a way that reminded Toki of a dog having a seizure, so he instead placed it on the tray beside Pickles's thigh and patted the ground to let Pickles know it was there.

"I mean I guess we can go," Nathan said, sighing and blowing a piece of his hair away from his face. "There're no metal bands in town or anything."

"I don't know if I can," Toki said, frowning. He didn't have anything to do, as always, but his parents liked to block the majority of his attempts to escape the house. Even when he had done all of his chores for the next month in a few days like he did when he really wanted something, his parents would still gaze at him in a way that would make him feel all of two feet tall. He would know that this gaze meant no. He would spend the rest of the day in misery, nursing his broken hope, and he really did not want to experience that feeling again. If he had to turn down a social invitation, oh well; there would always be another one and he would rather feel lonely by choice instead of lonely by force.

"I'll have my mom talk to yours or whatever." This was not a sentence that needed any particularly tragic infliction, but Nathan still applied some in a way that would be more apt if he were describing a grueling, Herculean task. Pickles doubled over in wheezy laughter but was largely ignored otherwise. He passed the joint back to Toki as he wiped tears from his eyes and muttered "Oh, Nathan" over and over again under his breath.

"Aweschome!" Murderface looked as if he was going to jump in celebration; however, Murderface was the type of person who didn't care for excessive physical movement, so he instead took a seat in Nathan's computer chair.

It was in Nathan's room that they had been sitting. Nathan's parents were the most relaxed of the group's and let Nathan listen to death metal on maximum volume while Pickles passed a blunt back and forth between himself and Toki, though they were kind enough to smoke it out the bedroom window. Nathan lived between two sets of frat boy types and neither party minded the music or marijuana, which was pretty cool. Nathan's parents also had a soothing effect on Toki's, and his was the only house he was allowed to frequent. Toki was okay with that, as Pickles's home was filled with drunken shouting most of the time and Murderface's grandparents were downright frightening. He preferred the familiar comfort of Nathan's solitary two-story house with the fenced-in backyard and the sounds of a neighborhood—a lawnmower purring, birds chirping, children playing—leaking in through the window. A benevolent atmosphere possessed Nathan's room despite the walls painted gray and cluttered with intimidating death metal posters that stared down, brutal musicians begging to be fucked with. Toki was sitting on the floor near the computer chair, under the windowsill on its right side, with Pickles sitting to Toki's left. Pickles was leaning against the wall with top of his head just underneath the windowsill, his dreadlocks sticking out at odd angles. Nathan was on his bed, the motorcycle magazine he'd been reading when Murderface came in lying discarded at his feet. He had his hands and arms draped over his knees, his black nail polish accentuated by the drab lighting in his room (even with the window open), and was wearing his reading glasses low on his nose.

There was a momentary lapse in conversation.

Nathan picked his magazine up once more and reclined on the bed with his head on the headboard and back nestled into the pillows. Nathan's bed set was custom-ordered, black with an anarchy symbol sprawled over the comforter and pentagrams displayed proudly on the pillows, though he employed standard red sheets beneath them. Nathan's bed was huge, and though it was pushed into a corner between two walls, it took up the majority of space in the room. Toki found himself in envious awe of Nathan's bed, even more so when he was stoned—between the worn-in comfort of the mattress and the brutal bed set, he wished he could have something as personalized in his own room. Lacking inhibitions, he stared at the way the comforter hung over the side with his mouth slightly open, eyes wide.

A halfhearted breeze coasted through the window, causing the curtains to pulsate forward. Pickles cursed as a curtain hit the back of his head and jumped forward with a yelp; Toki, momentarily distracted from the amazing bed, laughed. Pickles rubbed the back of his head as if the curtain (which had now returned to its place in front of the window) had seriously hurt him and sent Toki a self-deprecating grin that was more in the eyes than in the mouth. Toki returned the expression but broke it when Pickles went to roll another joint and instead he returned to his silent admiration of Nathan's bed.

Murderface had used the lull in conversation to swivel around on the computer chair and begin using Nathan's computer. The soft pattering of heavy fingers skirting over a keyboard joined the typical noises of Nathan's suburban neighborhood. Sundays were like this: without effort, sitting in mutual silence with one another, enjoying their respective activities together without infringing on the others. Toki smiled to himself, letting his thoughts bubble up in his throat and allowing his tongue to push the words forward.

"I think that Sunday is my favorite day," Toki said. He felt very warm—either because of the weather or because of the drugs, he couldn't tell—but cozy.

"Why's that, Toki?" Nathan asked. He licked his index finger and flipped the page of his magazine, staring down his nose at the page. He did not take his eyes from it as he asked the question.

Toki furrowed his brow. He was unable to articulate the precise way in which Sunday was his favorite, could not adequately bottle up the complacency deep in his chest in words, and thus settled for a mere, "I like it."

"Good for you," Nathan said. He turned another page in his magazine.

"Yeah, good for you," Pickles said, nodding his head up and down with a joint trapped between his lips. He pulled it out, examined it briefly, and then set it down on the tray.

"Thanks guys," Toki sighed. Nobody moved to continue the conversation, so Toki took it upon himself. "I think I would like it more, maybe, if it wasn't for going to church. Maybe Sundays would be my double favorites then."

"Church isch gay," Murderface stated. He swiveled around on his chair, planted his feet on the ground, and crossed his arms over his ample belly. His shirt had ridden up, exposing an expanse of doughy, hairy flesh that Pickles was staring in horror at with his mouth open and head tilted.

"It isn't that bad," Toki said, staring down at his chest sadly. He was sitting with his legs spread straight in front of him, slightly parted, and his hands by his thighs, so he had a good vantage to observe his outfit. He was still in his church clothes: khakis, ugly brown shoes, and a pastel-striped polo shirt. Toki did not find church clothes to be anything as much as he did pathetically depressing. The pastel colors reminded him of pills, and not the fun kind, while the khakis and shoes reminded him of old people. He could not come up with any particular reason why church wasn't bad, though he could come up with many why it was, so he let the sentence hang in the air. He accepted the joint when Pickles picked it up and passed it to him with a look that clearly said you need this. He took a hit.

"No, dood," Pickles said as he patted Toki's arm with exaggerated sympathy sketched in every corner of his face, "it's pretty bad."

"Yeah, church sucks," Nathan added. "When I was a kid my parents would make me go on, like, Christmas and Easter and shit. Now they're just like, whatever, and I can stay home."

Toki sighed. "I wish my parents would just be like, whatever." The adamancy that his parents forced him to attend church with was frightening, but understandable. His father had relocated from Norway to America with the expansion of his religion, and Toki understood that it was important to his parents. He just wanted his parents to understand that church wasn't important to him. He didn't have words to describe what he was, but he believed in nothing, that life was meaningless and the only purpose—if you could even call it that—was destruction. He occasionally entertained the notion that the Norse myths of ancient were true but overall, he didn't believe.

"Me too, dood," Pickles said slowly, heaviness in his voice indicative that he thought of this as a great revelation, "me too."

"I don't know, man," Murderface said; he was still sitting with his arms over his belly and legs spread wide open. "I think church isch for fagsch. My grandparentsch never made me do that schit." He wore a smug grin. Toki would normally feel slight annoyance tugging at his midsection when Murderface bragged, but he had to admit that not being forced to go to church was something to brag about.

"Lucky you." Nathan shrugged.

"Yeah," Murderface said, drawing the word out and narrowing his eyes, "lucky me."

"Is that supposed to mean something?" Nathan finally looked up from his magazine. He turned his head to give Murderface a glare that made Toki quibble.

"Nope," Murderface replied. He waved his hand in the air and kicked off with his foot. He spun in the chair for a while, kicking off with his foot every time he completed a circle, until he slowed and turned so that his body was facing the computer once more. Toki stared at Murderface, mesmerized by this action.

"Thought so," Nathan muttered. He returned to his magazine.

Toki turned his head to attempt to see what Murderface was doing on the computer but had no such luck, the awkward angle his body was at and Murderface's general hugeness blocking him. Murderface was typing hard, however, and this caught Toki's interest. "What are you doing, Murderface?" he asked. Pickles passed the joint again and Toki reached out his arm to take it, not turning his head.

"Googling Fuckface Academy, that'sch what'sch I'm doing," Murderface responded. He rolled backwards at an angle so Toki could see the screen, which was just the Google search results page that he couldn't even read. Toki got up and straightened his khakis out. He walked over to the computer on Murderface's right side and grabbed the mouse. The results that came up were a MySpace page for the band at the top, followed by a Facebook page. Below that were things that were more collections of words than actual websites.

Toki opened the MySpace page. The profile was elementary, standard black and gray with red accents. There was a picture of the band—they looked like typical grunge musicians, four guys in stonewashed genes and oversized shirts with various eccentric hairstyles—that was not noteworthy in any way. They had a few songs up with names like "Fuck Love, Let's Fuck" and "Bite Me Baby" but Nathan's speakers were blown from listening to death metal at maximum volume so Toki couldn't play them. The songs had an average of five hundred plays each—one called "Superhuman" had over a thousand, whereas a cover of The Pixies's "Where Is My Mind" only had a hundred and forty-nine—which seemed unremarkable yet not pathetic. The MySpace page gave Toki the information that they were a local band from one town over, had been playing together for six months, and drew their inspiration from the likes of the typical grunge band inspirations: Nirvana, The Pixies, Soundgarden, Alice in Chains, so on and so forth.

He traversed to the Facebook page next, which was more of the same. He saw that they had played a list of shows at various taverns, bars, and festivals, nothing too special but nothing too pitiful, a respectable list overall. Toki did not really know how to work Facebook—he was forbidden to even have a computer—and grew tired of the site quickly. Satisfied with the information of what Murderface had been up to and with his newfound knowledge of Fuckface Academy he backed up, letting Murderface slide back in front of the desk, and sat back down by the windowsill. He denied the joint when Pickles offered it this time; he was high enough for now.

"Doesch anybody have headphonesch?" Murderface asked from the computer. Toki could see that he was back on the band's MySpace page, with the help of his and Murderface's different sitting arrangements.

"No," Toki said. He was not allowed to have anything that would require headphones.

"Sorry, busted mine," Nathan grunted from the bed. He had abandoned his magazine and was texting, eyes narrowed at the screen, thumbs moving sluggishly.

Pickles did not bother to respond, as he had slumped into a stupor. His lips were parted and his eyes unfocused, the last joint burning between his fingers. Toki took it from his hands and extinguished it before setting it on the tray, seeing that Pickles was high enough for now, also. Nathan wasn't one for marijuana, preferring hard liquor; Murderface was the same way, though he went through week-long, whiny cycles of trying to get clean that were ultimately useless.

"Dammit," Murderface cursed. "I juscht want to know if thesche guysch are good." Toki watched him close the window. Nathan's computer background, a collage of metal bands accompanied by their illegible logos, replaced it.

"You can look up shitty grunge music on your own time," Nathan said. He sighed as his phone buzzed and played the opening twenty seconds to Cannibal Corpse's Hammer Smashed Face before picking it up like it weighed a hundred pounds and hated him. He made dramatic noises of varying levels of loudness as he texted and flung the phone to the foot of the bed when he was finished.

Murderface rose from the computer and stretched, once again exposing his belly. He ignored Nathan's comment of "You need a longer shirt, seriously" and walked around the room aimlessly, heavy combat boots making hard noises on the wooden floor. He stopped and tittered at miscellaneous things in Nathan's room: the door to his closet, halfway open and exposing a row of shirts in muted colors, a poster with peeling corners, a lamp in the corner. He left the room at one point, announcing that he was going to get food. Toki listened to his footsteps on the stairs, thinking vaguely of how they were like a monster's and scaring himself a little with the thought that Murderface was a monster in disguise.

Nathan's phone buzzed and rang and once again he texted in his overdramatic manner. Toki thought briefly of asking what was wrong but decided against it. Pickles was beginning to wake from his stupor, limbs twitching and eyes snapping back to focus. Toki ran a hand through his hair and felt thankful that he had at least took it out of the braid that his mother forced upon him when they went to church on the walk to Nathan's house. His hair had loose waves in it from the braid, but the guys didn't care to call him out on it; Toki doubted that they even noticed. Toki himself didn't mind the braid, especially in the heat, but he knew the guys would; Murderface would probably declare it gay if he knew. Or perhaps that wouldn't mean anything, as Murderface declared everything gay. Toki was beginning to confuse himself and took his hand away from his hair, clearing his head of the thoughts.

Murderface returned with his arms full of junk food. Pickles shot up, beaming; Toki and Nathan followed considerably more slowly. Pickles grabbed a box of oatmeal cream pies; Toki went for a share size bag of M&M's and a box of milk duds; Nathan ripped a bag of chips, plain Lays, from Murderface's arms. Murderface dumped the remaining food in the middle of the room and selected a Snickers bar for himself, unwrapping it and taking a huge bite, chewing loudly. He sat down by the pile of food. The combination of the Explosions' love of junk food and Halloween on the horizon proved to be a wonderful thing to a group of bored teenage boys, half of them suffering from the munchies and the other half possessing huge appetites regardless.

Pickles popped an oatmeal cream pie in his mouth full and spoke through the mess of cream and pie. "Dood. This is great."

"I love candy," Toki said, nodding his head. His mouth was full of M he was dumping them straight into his open mouth, shaking the bag with vigor.

"I love food," Pickles responded. He swallowed the oatmeal cream pie and went on to opening another. "I want to marry the metaphysical entity of food. Is that legal? That should be legal."

"Petition it," Nathan suggested. He was resting on the bed and texting again, the bag of chips unopened by his side and face knitted up in concentration.

Murderface snorted and reached forward to grab a bag of Doritos. "Ah, the schtupid schit people schay when they're high. That'sch why I don't schmoke."

"You don't smoke 'cause your grandma would kick your ass if you did," Nathan said, looking smug when Toki and Pickles both laughed at this. His phone buzzed again; he groaned loudly and threw it across his bed, not even bothering to look to see whoever texted him whatever. He proceeded to open his chips with a look on his face like he just found God.

"Hey!" Murderface shouted, scowling and spewing Dorito crumbs everywhere. Toki, repulsed, slowed his chewing of the M&M's down.

The four of them sat in not-silence—they were all noisy eaters, happily clamping and smacking and sighing with the bliss of junk food—as they ate. In contrast to the M&M's, which Toki had shoveled in his mouth greedily, pushing the candy to the sides of his cheeks and chewing fast, Toki ate the Milk Duds one by one. Some he sucked the chocolate off before popping them on his tongue, others he plopped right in. The chocolate melted on his fingers and he paused every ten or so Milk Duds to lick it off and then wipe his fingers on the wall behind him. It wasn't exactly sanitary, but Toki couldn't afford to ruin his church clothes. Pickles ate the whole box of oatmeal cream pies and relaxed, hands on his stomach and licking his lips. Murderface gnawed his way through the Doritos as Nathan ate his chips slowly, examining each individual chip before bringing it to his mouth and indulging.

They did not finish the pile of junk food, nor had they expected to. It was a little after one in the afternoon, sun, temperature and humidity high. The children that had been shrieking in the streets had retreated inside for lunch, afternoon television, and naps; the same could be said for the adults who didn't have yard work to do or cars to wash. Toki was beginning to slip into a somnolent state, belly full of candy and eyelids drooping. He would've been happy to sleep right here, underneath the windowsill in Nathan's bedroom, for a few hours. He did sometimes take naps when he came over—he wasn't allowed to take them at home—and had decided that today would be a good day for a nap when Pickles stood up.

Pickles wiped crumbs from his shirt and shorts before speaking. "Are we gonna get lunch?"

"Lunch?" Nathan asked, perking up. His phone had gone off five times since he'd thrown it to the edge of the bed, but he'd been doing a good job of ignoring it in favor of his chips. The promise of more food trumped any food he was currently eating.

"Yeah, lunch. We gonna eat it or what?" Pickles had now moved on to straightening his dreads. He'd dreaded his hair recently, a decision he made while drunk and high off some mushrooms that Murderface had wanted to experiment with. Pickles had a different smell now, mustier, and he had admitted before that his mother was forcing him to use a special dreadlock shampoo.

"I mean, I guess we can." Nathan shrugged and put his chips and turned off the lamp on the nightstand. He slid his reading glasses down his nose, opening the lone drawer and depositing them inside. "Do you want to go to a restaurant or eat inside or what? My parents aren't home so my mom can't cook for us."

Murderface's contribution to the conversation was an exclamation of "Taco Bell!" followed by a spray of crumbs. Pickles laughed before making a repulsed face, stretching in the middle of the room. Murderface clambered to get up, discarding his bag of chips, swallowing the rest of his food, and moving closer to the door.

"Taco Bell fucking sucks," Nathan said.

"I agree, dood," Pickles added, shooting Murderface a look. Murderface sneered back. He was still gravitating towards the door, obviously trying to get the other three to follow him.

"I want to go to, like. Fucking Dimmu Burger," Nathan said. He sat up on his bed, one hand bracing the edge of the mattress.

"Dimmu Burger would be good, yeah," Pickles said. With this confirmation, Nathan got all the way up and stretched.

"Dimmu Burger it is. Toki, you coming with?" Pickles yawned and rotated his body around to look at Toki, eyes half-lidded. This was how these types of things usually went down: Nathan and Pickles made decisions; Murderface argued with them; Toki went along with whatever they wanted to do. It tended to be for the best; Toki tended to only want to go to the skate park and Murderface to the beach, as he was convinced that this was the location he had the best chance of getting laid at. While Toki was occasionally indulged in the skate park—Nathan, Murderface, and Pickles would get drunk with the other teenagers toward the back while Toki would skateboard by himself, content to do so—everybody hated the beach. Toki didn't like wearing any less clothing than he usually did, Nathan didn't like going outside, and Pickles was very Irish.

"Yeah," Toki sighed. He got up off the floor. Food would make him less sleepy.

Murderface, still lingering close to the doorway, pulled his phone from his pocket. "Hey, I'm gonna tescht Dick—"

"No you're not," Nathan growled. He snatched Murderface's phone and pocketed it before walking over to his bed and grabbing his own phone with a moan, treating it like a clingy girlfriend he couldn't get rid of.

"You guysch always invite Charlesch to schit!" Murderface whined. He took half-steps towards Nathan, reaching out his arm halfway, bemoaning the loss of his phone. Murderface had a shit phone, three years old with a slide-out QWERTY keyboard crusted with crumbs, but he was in love with the thing.

"That's different," Pickles said. He crossed his arms. Pickles was shorter than Murderface—Pickles was just short—but with his head lowered to his chest like that, he seemed to tower above him. "We all like Charles. Nobody likes Dick."

Murderface snorted, anger forgotten in lieu of Pickles's poor choice of phrasing. Pickles uncrossed his arms and smiled. Nathan reached in the pocket of his jeans and handed Murderface back his phone with a testy look. Murderface took his phone, looked at it once sadly, and then slid it into to the pocket of his shorts.

"I'm driving," Nathan announced, though nobody was about to protest it. Nathan, a year older due to his failure of the third grade, was the only licensed driver in the group. Pickles was sixteen, his birthday in the early fall, but hadn't bothered to even get his permit since everybody he hung around had their licenses; Murderface was still fifteen, his birthday in December, but he'd put off getting his permit until June; Toki wasn't allowed to drive. Nathan had a four-door truck, an old, rusted thing that was on its last limb, but it fit them all and was good enough to drive them from his house to Dimmu Burger. They exited Nathan's room single-file, Nathan heading the way with Pickles stumbling behind him, then Murderface, then Toki. They walked down the stairs this way and clustered together more at the bottom. Pickles kept tripping over his feet and laughing at it, which made Toki laugh in turn. Nathan chuckled a few times; Murderface returned to pouting. Nathan grabbed the keys by the door in the kitchen and off they were.

Pickles rode shotgun like always. Toki sat behind the driver's seat with Murderface on the other side of the truck. The drive to the good Dimmu Burger, not the one with the wonky fries and cashiers who gave them the evil-eye when they walked in stoned, took about ten minutes. Toki passed the time by staring out the window, which was rolled down like all the others, wind whistling in his ears. Nathan was a fast driver, though a surprisingly competent one and everything seemed to blur past. It did not help that Toki was stoned, nor did it help that this part of Florida looked exactly the same no matter where you went: buildings low and painted in happy colors, assorted trees dotting the edge of the road, the roads wide, in need of a good pave, and sweltering in the heat. Nathan blasted death metal. The best thing about his truck was that he had replaced the speakers with top-of-the-line, expensive models and had installed a CD player. They barely hit any lights and traffic was typical for a Sunday afternoon, slow and scarce. Nathan flipped the bird at somebody that cut him off and his phone buzzed three times in five minutes before laying silent, but it was otherwise an uneventful drive. Nobody could talk over the music, but Pickles was finding things to giggle at in the front seat and Murderface was either texting or on the internet with his phone.

Nathan pulled into the parking lot of Dimmu Burger and waited out the drum solo on the song that was playing—Toki didn't particularly care for it, but it was one of Nathan's favorites—before turning the car off. They spilled out of the car and Pickles fell, tripping while he tried to climb down. Murderface shook with laughter while Pickles let out a string of curses. He'd fallen on all fours and rubbed alternatively at the heel of his hands and scraped knees as they walked into the Dimmu Burger. Nathan gave him a single sympathetic look and Pickles suffered in silence. Falling when getting out of the trunk was something Pickles did with regularity, especially when intoxicated: the truck was high off the ground, Pickles was not.

Dimmu Burger was full. There were a cluster of ten-to-twelve-year-old boys in green and white soccer uniforms in one corner, their moms chatting away over salads and diet sodas, and a couple of teenagers Toki didn't know in another. People of various kinds were scattered throughout the tables otherwise. They approached the counter, where a bored-looking cashier stood, a button declaring that they'd just installed a happy hour for all beverages—milkshakes included!—shining on her lapel. Nathan ordered first, followed by Pickles, then Murderface, and lastly Toki, who ordered chicken nuggets instead of burgers like the other guys had gotten. Toki wasn't allowed to have money on him, and it was Pickles's turn to pay for his expenses. Toki felt a tug of guilt in his gut as he watched Pickles hand over the bills, but nobody spoke about the money thing to Toki. He assumed they had worked out a schedule between them early on in the friendship after Toki kept not eating whenever they were out together, as even Murderface would pay for him on occasion.

They sat at a table by a window facing the front of the building, Toki sledged between the wall and Murderface. Toki wanted to pick at his chicken nuggets drowsily, taking dainty bites and resting his elbow on the table with his head cradled in his hand, but his hunger got the best of him. Toki ate nugget after nugget until they were gone and then moved onto his fries, sucking down his soda. When he finished his food he reached across and plucked some of Murderface's fries, plopping them into his mouth with a shit-eating grin.

"Lay off!" Murderface screeched. He pulled his fries to his other side of his food. Pickles cracked up; Nathan laughed a little. Pickles was done with his food, finishing before even Toki, but Nathan was a slow eater, only halfway through his burger.

"Like you really fucking need them," Nathan said. In the corner, the gaggle of soccer moms sent a collective glare at Nathan. He flipped them off; their jaws dropped in unison.

Nathan's phone, which had been resting on the table by his food, buzzed not once, but three times in a row. Nathan groaned and picked it up and looked at his new messages before setting them back down again. He let out a "Jesus fucking Christ" under his breath before bringing his burger to his mouth again and taking a huge bite.

"Who keeps texting you?" Pickles asked, looking at the phone without trust. He had been holding his own phone in one hand, his elbow up on the table and head resting in his other hand, scrolling through something with his thumb on the screen. Pickles had the most recent iPhone, a gift from his brother for his sixteenth birthday, surely bought with drug money. Pickles was convinced that Seth had an ulterior motive behind the gift but he hadn't been able to figure out what it was yet. In the meantime, he was happy to use it.

"Fucking Charles and Abigail," Nathan muttered between bites of hamburger. The food obscured his expression for the most part, so Toki couldn't tell why this fact was so bothersome to him. Toki knew Charles well, since Charles was Nathan's old friend from before he failed the third grade, but he didn't know Abigail, not really. Nathan didn't bring her to group outings, only hanging out with her in the foursome of Nathan, Charles, Pickles, and Abigail. Toki knew there was some drama going on between the four of them, could tell by the way Pickles's mouth thinned when Abigail was bought up and the insane amounts of texting that had been occurring recently, but Toki was too polite to investigate further, no matter how curious he might have been.

"Neither of them text that much, dood. I would know," Pickles remarked. He pointed at Nathan's phone, which buzzed then again. Pickles leapt in his seat. "Holy shit, I'm magical!"

Nathan ignored the coincidence and shrugged, the burger still between his hands. "I don't know why they've been texting me so much. I fucking hate it, though. I want to end it but they just keep texting me."

"Poor you, with all your friends teschting you," Murderface growled. "I think the phrasche isch 'blowing up your phone'? What a schame." Murderface's comments went unaddressed; he stuffed his face huffily.

"Toki, you're awfully quiet," Pickles said. He appeared to be making a point of not responding to Nathan. He pointed at Toki this time, who did not buzz and start playing the opening 20 seconds of Hammer Smashed Face. Pickles actually seemed relatively disappointed by this fact.

"He gets like this when he's stoned," Nathan explained. He had finished his burger and was onto his fries now. "Depressed and shit."

"I am not depressed," Toki said. "I'm tired." It was true; the food had not woken him up. He knew he would have to return home soon, but he did not want to. He wanted to curl up into a bed and fall asleep for a refreshing afternoon nap, maybe dream a pleasant little dream. He also really wanted to listen to some electronica, but Nathan and Murderface hated it, and it's not like Toki had a way to play his own music.

"Then schleep," Murderface suggested, placing a fry in his mouth.

"Yeah, he's going to sleep in the middle of fucking Dimmu Burger," Nathan said. "What are you, stupid? Don't answer that. We know you are."

"Fuck you," Murderface replied, almost lazily, waving a fry around in the air. He was sitting at an angle, half of his body pressed into the booth while facing the conversation.

"I think I'm going to have to go home after lunch," Toki sighed. He stared down at the table, not wanting to meet the other's eyes. He lifted his head to look at Nathan. "Will you take me home after lunch?"

"You don't want to stay for dinner? It's macaroni and cheese night," Nathan said.

Toki weighed his options. He loved Nathan's mother's cooking, especially her macaroni and cheese, but he had stayed for dinner yesterday. Tomorrow was a school day. He hadn't done his Sunday chores yet. He could escape for a few hours after church, but he knew that his parents would want him home soon, and he didn't want to anger them—especially not if he was going to be attending the Fuckface Academy concert next weekend. Perhaps he would even be able to stay the night at Nathan's if he was good enough this week, would be able to stumble in drunk and high and pass out on the floor with Murderface and Pickles while Nathan would sleep until soberness on the bed. A week from now he could be able to play video games with them on Nathan's ridiculously large flat-screen T.V. in the living room, eating Nathan's mother's cookies, the chocolate chip ones she always made when Nathan's friend stayed over. All if he went home after lunch.

"I can't," Toki said. He wondered what he'd be having for dinner at home. Today was Sunday, so probably some sort of elaborate Norwegian dish that his mother had started preparing after church. Toki's mother was a passable cook and he liked Norwegian food more than he liked American food, but he would still rather be eating with a group of friends, talking loudly and happily instead of sitting in silence. He could only comfort himself with the thought that a week from now, he'd be happy.

"Can I stay for dinner?" Pickles asked. "Fucking love your mom's macaroni and cheese, man." Nathan, mouth full of the last of his fries, grunted in response to this and nodded his head.

"Me too," Murderface said. "I'd love to schtay, but I promisched Dick we'd do schomething later. Scho I'll need you to drop me off at Dick'sch." He put his arms behind his head and stretched in the booth, making smacking noises with his mouth and clearly trying to impress the others with the fact that he'd made plans. The others were not impressed; Dick Knubbler was Murderface's only other friend besides the four of them, and the guy was insane, not really a friend to brag about having. Nonetheless, Murderface arched his eyebrows and gave them a look like he was gracing them with his presence by choosing to hang out with them instead of Dick Knubbler.

"You can drop your own goddamn self off at Dick's," Nathan said.

Murderface sneered. "I'll have him pick me up, then," he said, reaching out to grab his phone and text Knubbler.

Nathan was the last to finish his food and when he did they all got up to throw the wrappers away. The other guys kept their drinks but Toki threw his in the bin, knowing his parents would be mad if they saw him with it and not wanting to litter in Nathan's truck. They bustled out of Dimmu Burger, earning evil stares from the soccer moms who were still there for speaking so vulgarly in earshot of their precious children.

"Your kids probably say worse shit when you're not around," Nathan remarked to them as they exited the restaurant. The soccer moms gasped and glared as soccer moms do, turning to their boys, presumably to ask them if they did, indeed, say worse things when their mothers weren't around. Toki looked over his shoulder before walking out the door to see the boys giving sheepish grins at their mothers and at each other.

Toki lived in a neighborhood closer to the north side of town. It was a nice neighborhood but was populated mostly by older, richer folks, the type that paid people to do their lawns perfectly. Toki did all of the yard work himself, every Sunday, and that was what he had to look forward to when he got home: backbreaking labor in the heavy heat for four hours, as it after two o'clock now, before dinner. He spent the ride to his house in sulking silence while Nathan, Pickles, and Murderface engaged themselves in a debate over whether the new or old lead guitarist for some metal band Toki had never heard of was better. Murderface was trying to insist that the old was superior while Nathan and Pickles were on the newer one's side. They were shouting over the music from the band they were shouting about, turned down lower than usual so they could hear each other but still playing loud, throbbing in Toki's head. Pickles was whipping his head back from Murderface to Nathan, dreads bouncing around his shoulders; Murderface was leaning forward in his seat, seatbelt straining against his chest; Nathan's eyes were glued to the road but he was still participating in their debate. If Nathan's phone went off, it was lost in the discord.

Nathan eventually pulled up to Toki's house and put the truck in park against the curve. Both of his parents' cars were in the driveway, leaving no room for Nathan's truck. Toki's house was a standard two-story, painted a muted orange-brown color, windows obscured with curtains on the inside. It was a showy house, decorated with masonry, an exemplary Floridian home. Toki sort of hated it.

He undid his seatbelt and had his hand on the door to the truck when Nathan said, "We'll see you Saturday, yeah?"

"I hope so," Toki said. He opened the door. "Just—just have your mom call mine, okay?"

"'Kay," Nathan said. "See you."

"Bye, Toki," Pickles and Murderface said at the same time. Murderface had to add, "Keep care," and then Pickles had to say, "Make good decisions" with sarcasm in his voice, and Murderface was opening his mouth to say something else when Toki got out of the truck and shut the door. Nathan wasted no time in pulling out, speeding down the road. Toki watched as his truck bounced away, the metal music flowing through the windows disrupting the otherwise quiet of his neighborhood.

He walked up the driveway to his front door and reached into his pocket for the key. He took off his shoes immediately when inside, depositing them in their neat place in line with the rest of his shoes by the doorway. He called out that he was home in Norwegian, hoping somebody heard him and not expecting to get a response. He walked through the sitting room to get to the stairs, and then went up to his room. He changed from his church clothes and folded them neatly in the laundry basket before switching into athletic shorts and a white t-shirt. He pulled his hair up, getting it off his neck in preparation for the heat. He looked at himself in the mirror hanging on his wall before walking back out of his room. He didn't look unusual enough to get in trouble for doing drugs, but his parents were sort of oblivious to that kind of thing anyway, and he'd never got in trouble for it before.

He went into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water from the fridge and found his mother standing over the stove. He still thought that his parents looked awkward in American clothing; they had ditched the robes and such when they moved, in order to blend in better. His mother was wearing a long dress with long sleeves, her hair pulled back with a scarf, but she still looked odd and unlike the woman Toki had grown up with. She didn't say anything or even turn her head as Toki got his water, though he wasn't expecting her to. His parents rarely spoke to him because of their vow of silence; his parents rarely paid attention to him because they were his parents.

He figured that his father was in his office since his car was home and that meant he couldn't be at church, and Toki wasn't about to greet him. He went out through the front door, pulling on his ratty old athletic sneakers, and walked around to open the garage. His Sunday chores involved doing the yard work, cleaning out the gutters, and tidying up the garage. He took a swig from his water bottle and set it down on the unused workbench in the garage and then pulled the lawnmower out, starting it up. He'd forgotten his sunglasses and there wasn't a cloud in the sky but he squinted his eyes and suffered through it, knowing he'd get in trouble if he went back in before finishing his chores or getting called for dinner. So he began to mow the yard, going in careful lines, already sweating beneath his clothes. The smell of gasoline was strong, hanging in the air. For October it was hot outside and he knew it wouldn't begin to truly cool down until late November, winter coming full-force (weakly, in comparison to the harsh Norwegian weather he'd been conditioned in) in January.

While he mowed, a mechanical task requiring no thought but to scan the ground to make sure there were no obstacles in his way, he thought. He had homework to do tonight, bookwork for math, questions for history, and a chapter to read for English. It wasn't that much and about the workload he did regularly. He wasn't in any advanced classes and got passing grades in the ones he took. It wasn't that he was unintelligent (though he was generally average) but that he didn't put a lot of effort into school. He didn't care about it, didn't put any thought towards his future or what he wanted to be when he grew up. He was relatively sure that his parents wanted him to join the church, but that wasn't going to happen. He had every intention of moving the fuck out when he turned eighteen, though he didn't know where was going to go. He figured he would get a job and an apartment somewhere, but it wasn't so much the technicalities as getting out of the house, being free. Freedom was what he craved above all, and the desire of it was what he blamed the restless feeling he so often fell victim to on. He was beginning to feel it now, annoyance wrapping around his body at the fact that he was stuck on a Sunday afternoon confined to his chores. It wasn't even the chores, which were standard and harmless compared to the other things his parents had him sometimes do—it was the fact that this was what he spent all of his time doing, working for his parents, even when he was younger. He was older now, stronger, and living in the suburbs, a stark contrast to Norway. He didn't have to lug firewood up hills in skimpy clothes with snow slamming down around him as a skinny eight-year-old, wasn't being pushed into punishment holes, but he still had to do everything for his parents while they did nothing for him with the exception of the womanly duties that his mother performed. Every day was a blur of school and chores, sometimes punishment, sometimes wiggling free to hang out with his friends and he hated it, and this line of thought had bought the itchy feeling underneath his skin back again.

He paused briefly in his mowing to readjust his hair, which had been slipping out of the knot he had tied it in. Growing out his hair was a decision made based on the fact that he liked metal music, but it had the benefit of really pissing off his parents. He didn't know why metal music, long hair, and Satan were all connected. He guessed the church needed a scapegoat for the inevitable corruption of humanity. He, a human, did not feel corrupted by the length of his hair, however; he felt that he looked better with it, liked the way it moved against his back when he walked and how he could windmill at the metal concerts that he sometimes went to. He began to mow again and started to think about the upcoming Fuckface Academy concert. Nathan's mother would probably call his own later in the week, to ensure that they wouldn't forget or change their mind. He had been to concerts several times before with Nathan and the rest, most often death metal bands of varying status, and he knew Nathan's mother would lie about the show that they were seeing. Nathan, though picky about the music he listened to on his own times, didn't care who they saw live as long as they were seeing somebody live. Nathan went to a show practically every weekend, always taking Pickles with him. Murderface and Toki attended more erratically, Toki sometimes not allowed to go and Murderface snobbish about music. Nathan and Pickles would either attend by themselves or with Charles and Abigail, and Toki didn't feel any sort of jealousy about the fact that his friends had other friends, though he knew Murderface did. He and Murderface would hang out together when Nathan and Pickles were off at concerts they couldn't or didn't want to go to, getting drunk at the skate park or sitting in the sun at the beach, Murderface complaining about the fact that girls didn't like him while Toki remained silent. Seeing Fuckface Academy would probably be fun, though Knubbler would most likely be there. Toki didn't care about that if it meant he'd be getting in for free, but Nathan and Pickles might act pissy and Murderface might slip into a more stuck-up mode than usual. Overall, Toki was looking forward to the band, and he allowed himself to imagine standing in the crowd, engulfed by music and moshing. The fantasy diminished the itchy feeling, replacing it with excited anticipation.

He was sticky with sweat and had a headache from the sun when he finished mowing the front yard. He took the lawnmower back in the garage and took another drink of his water, which was, miraculously, still cold. He would have to do the backyard, but first he needed to finish the front yard, doing the things that weren't mowing. There were no trees in the front yard or elsewhere on his property, but the neighbors to his right had a particularly large oak that loved to drop leaves into his yard. He raked those and hummed to himself. When that was finished, he trimmed the hedges around the property that his parents liked so much. He walked out in front of his house to look at the yard, checking to make sure it was immaculate. There were no weeds, no mushrooms sprouting up, the hedges were even, no leaves, and he was satisfied that his parents would be satisfied.

He bought the mower around back to work on the backyard. His backyard was small and fenced in, a grill shoved towards one corner with a smooth wooden deck taking up the majority of the space. He had a nice house he had to admit as he mowed. The backyard was sparsely but tastefully decorated, wicker furniture on the deck and the highlight being a small garden with a fountain. He'd have to tend to the garden, gathering the vegetables and watering the plants, but that he wouldn't mind. The mosquitoes were thick but they weren't a fan of Toki and he only got one bite on the inside of his forearm. They held several parties in their house, mostly church-related gatherings that required Toki to be dressed in his Sunday best and be seen and not heard. There weren't a lot of other teenage members of the church, mostly young couples with small, impressionable children and older people, and the ones that did belong didn't like Toki. The teenagers were an odd bunch, a group of boys who hung around each other and appeared to have been lifted straight from an old sitcom, complete with awkward hairstyles and the habit of referring to each other exclusively by their last names. Like the majority of the population, they didn't speak to Toki. Church socials were lonely.

When he finished mowing he deposited the lawnmower in the garage, took a big gulp of water which was beginning to warm and collected his gardening tools. He checked the clock in the garage—close to four. He would have to work hard and fast to finish before dinnertime. He tended the garden as quickly as possible, straightened up the backyard in a hurry, and scrambled onto the roof to clean the gutters. It hadn't rained in a while, which was both good and bad; the gutters were full of dead leaves and not much else. It was five-thirty by the time he finished his tasks, leaving him just enough time to tidy up and sweep the garage into a presentable state. His headache had grown stronger from a combination of the sun and dehydration and he'd finished his bottle of water, feeling dizzy. He had lost the calming effect of the marijuana during his chores and he felt high-strung, nervous. He kept checking the front yard for mistakes and finding none, then going around to the backyard and again finding none. He fretted in the garage until he saw his mother poke out her head, nod in approval at what she saw, and beckon him to get cleaned up for dinner. He grabbed his empty bottle of water, crumpling it in his fist, and closed down the garage.

He threw the water bottle into the recycling bin and entered his house, taking his shoes off by the door. He wanted badly to take a shower but there wasn't time for that, so he instead washed his face and changed back into his church clothes. He didn't put on his shoes, leaving his feet in socks, but did tie his hair back in a low ponytail. He still felt disgusting and hot from his chores, but he'd deal with that later.

He walked down to the dining room and took his place. Dinner was in front of him, though his parents hadn't sat down yet. There was a glass of water that he drank from thirstily, willing his headache to vanish. His mother appeared, taking her seat, and then his father, taking his.

The food was elaborate and delectable, but Toki always felt uncomfortable when he ate with his parents. They didn't look at him but at their food, taking slow and careful bites. Toki, a fast eater, felt like he had to match them. He learned when he was young that getting stuck at the dinner table with nothing to eat or do was not a pleasant experience, so he ate at a snail's pace, relishing every bite. When he first moved to America the food had made him homesick, but he realized quickly that America was better than Norway in that he didn't live in an abandoned village with no friends other than dolls he'd made himself, and the homesickness had vanished instantly. He still wouldn't call any habitation he shared with his parents home, but it was better than it had been, and Toki was grateful for that.

He did finish his dinner before his parents and spent the rest of his time sipping his water. His headache had not gone away but it had not intensified. He wasn't allowed painkillers at home unless he was very ill, and his parents wouldn't consider a headache ill, so he'd have to wait it out. His father finished his food before his mother, as usual, and he rose, wiping his mouth with a linen napkin. Toki knew that after dinner on Sundays his father would investigate his work, and that Toki would have to follow him. If Toki had failed, his punishment would be immediate; if he did not he would be released to his room, where he would do his homework, take a shower, and then go to bed. They left his mother still eating in the dining room and exited through the front door, Toki hastily pulling on his shoes before they went out.

His father walked to the street to take a view of the front yard. Toki stood nervously by his side, biting his lip with his hands thrust in his pockets, scratching at the insides. His father turned to him and nodded, but Toki wouldn't let himself breathe, not yet. They walked around to the backyard, where his father hovered at the garden, inspecting it. Toki had taken all the vegetables in a basket to the kitchen earlier, the only time he was allowed to enter the house when doing Sunday chores, and his father must've seen them already, as he nodded with approval at the garden and at Toki. He craned his neck to look at the gutters and seemed satisfied with those, too. Toki followed him back around into the garage, which also received the seal of approval. Only then did Toki allow himself to breathe out with a thankful exhale, taking his hands from his pocket and wringing his clammy fingers. His father gave him a cold look, but that was not unusual, and Toki hurried back inside the house.

He did his homework before taking a shower, beginning with math. Toki was not the best math student, being better at things requiring creativity, but he wasn't exactly bad. There were fifteen problems involving a lot of calculator work and he finished them in half an hour. History bored him, but he bullshitted his answers and moved on to read the chapter of the book for English, which was also boring. He had an English test coming up, so he read the chapter twice for lack of better things to do, lying on his back in his bed with the book held above his face. It was closer to eight by the time he finished his homework and his headache had lessened, though it had not disappeared completely. He got his backpack ready for the morning and left it by the door of his room when he went to take a shower.

He spent a while in the shower, letting the hot water wash over him and relax his muscles, which ached faintly from the work. He slumped against the wall and let the bathroom steam up, enjoying the feeling of a long shower after a long day. He was sober by now, and saddened by the overall state of his life, but he always became like this when it got later into the night, especially when he was left alone to his thoughts in the shower. He didn't pay it much attention.

When he got out of the shower he wrapped a towel around his midsection and brushed his teeth before walking back to his room. His parents were in bed; he could tell by the utter silence of his house, thicker than usual. He thought about sneaking downstairs to watch television, on mute with the closed captioning on, but decided against it. He was tired, and he had school in the morning, which he would have to get up early for. He went into his room and changed into pajama pants to sleep in, throwing the towel into the laundry hamper. He combed his hair out and tied it back, not wanting to have to bother with it too much in the morning. He had naturally nice hair, straight and relatively without frizz. The girls at school always asked him how he did it, and he would shrug, unconcerned. He used whatever shampoo his mother bought that week and combed it out before he went to bed and when he got up in the morning, and that would always be his answer.

He crawled underneath the comforter and pulled it up to his chest. His bed was in the middle of the room and he slept towards the right side, facing his closet. He developed that habit when he was a kid and scared of monsters, wanting to be able to see inside and ready to fight them in case they appeared. As a teenager, he wasn't scared of monsters—or at least not the ones he knew didn't exist—but this was the most comfortable sleeping position to him now, he guessed from habit.

He closed his eyes and looked for sleep. He found it without too much trouble. He liked sleep, liked dreaming, and tonight he dreamed of unintelligible adventures as usual, the locations of his life distorted as he did things without motive or meaning. He would remember his dreams in the morning but they were never particularly memorable. He didn't dream of fighting, of sex, or of humor, but of going about his average life in skewed, odd ways. Occasionally he would have nightmares, most of them about punishments that'd been inflicted on him over the course of his life, or of being young and helpless in face of greater dangers than himself. These nightmares would always wake him up, the scars on his back throbbing with awareness and memory, but he had no such nightmares tonight.

Sunday came to a close as he slept and dreamt away. It was a boring close, and he wasn't a fan of boring, but he'd take that over punishment from his parents any day of the week, the only guaranteed excitement in his dull life. He still possessed that restless feeling, the one that grabbed ahold of him and wrapped him in it, but he'd grown accustomed to ignoring it. He would tell himself that he could not predict the future and could not change things himself, would just let them play out, happen as they may. He was not a headstrong, determined person, not a believer in shaping your own destiny, nothing as drastic as that. In want of any religious beliefs or strong moral convictions he lived his life in a lazy way, and though sometimes this bugged him, he was overall, content. He had things to look forward to and things to dread: the concert, his parents. He had a life and he lived it, though there was that constant nagging at the back of his head, the base of his skull, begging him for something more.

It had been a good day.


	2. Rift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter I translate Metalocalypse plot lines directly to a high school AU setting. I promise it'll stop looking like that soon.

Monday opened with Toki sitting in his first period Chemistry class. His assigned seat was at a table towards the back of the classroom, in the middle row and to the left of his lab partner, a boy named Leonard Rockstein. Toki and his lab partner sat behind the duo of Nathan and Pickles, who were currently not speaking to each other, chairs scooted as far apart as possible and bodies turned in opposite directions. Leonard Rockstein—who preferred to go by the ridiculous moniker of "Dr. Rockzo"—was babbling on to Toki about something, but Toki was not paying attention to him, instead looking at Nathan and Pickles. Nathan was holding a conversation with a girl to his left, her shrill laughter ringing in Toki's ears whenever Nathan made a (lame) joke; Pickles was staring ahead at the back of the boy he sat behind, arms crossed and letting out long exhalations accompanied by exaggerated heaving motions of his chest every ten seconds or so. Toki had no idea what was going on between the two of them, as when he came into class this morning and took his seat, Nathan and Pickles were behaving in exactly this fussy manner and had refuted his attempts to make conversation with the both, or either, of them. Their state of upset worried Toki, but he apparently wasn't going to get anywhere with either of them while they were in each other's company, so he would have to wait until next period to interrogate Murderface and see if he knew anything. If Murderface didn't, and Toki doubted he would, then he would approach Pickles about the rift in fourth period Algebra II. Toki did not look forward to either confrontation, nor did he expect them to go well, but he was curious, eager to find out what had happened and why his friends were feuding, so he would simply have to deal.

Dr. Rockzo snapped his fingers in front of Toki's face, causing Toki to jump in his seat, startled. "What?" He asked, turning to face the other boy. Dr. Rockzo was a sight: he had bushy hair that he wore long and dyed various colors throughout the school year (currently a bleached blond; Toki assumed it was in preparation for the next neon hue) and was clad in skinny jeans tight enough and in obnoxious enough colors that they should be left solely to preteen girls. His bulbous nose was rubbed raw and red from his overuse of cocaine; he sniffed and swatted at it periodically. He had crazy eyes and tanned skin, looked thirty years old at the tender age of fifteen. Toki suspected it was from the drug use.

"Dr. Rockzo was just saying that he thinks that Dr. Rockzo and Toki should hang out together this k-k-weekend," Dr. Rockzo said. He had an irritating voice, kind of what nails would sound like if they could talk. Toki also suspected that Dr. Rockzo was suffering from some sort Tourette's syndrome, most likely because of the drug use. Toki suspected a lot of things about Dr. Rockzo with basis in his drug use, actually, enough to make him narrow his eyes at the other boy and twist his mouth in suspicion.

"I can't," Toki said. He stared down at the floor by Dr. Rockzo's feet, wondering where he got his platform boots from; they looked authentic. Toki was genuinely sad that he couldn't hang out with Dr. Rockzo, he liked him well enough to consider him a friend, but his parents would definitely not approve of Leonard Rockstein. Toki would be severely punished for weeks if they knew he spoke to Dr. Rockzo on a regular basis, much less wanted to spend time with him outside of school. Dr. Rockzo could be the poster boy the type of heathens his parents' church despised: loud and lovely in his appreciation of hard music and hard drugs, Satan's influence visible in every nook and cranny of his being. Toki supposed the same could be said for him, but as far as he knew, Dr. Rockzo never had any reason to hide.

"And why k-k-not?" Dr. Rockzo put a hand on his hip and somehow managed to strike a sassy, dubious pose, despite the fact that he was sitting down.

Toki grappled for an excuse. He felt that he had exhausted the fact that his parents didn't let him do anything, always feeling guilty when he used it, as if Dr. Rockzo wouldn't believe him. He then remembered that he had the concert this weekend, was going to see Fuckface Academy, and brightened with the thought. "I promised Murderface that I'd go to a concert with him."

"Oh, okay," Dr. Rockzo said, turning around. He wasn't upset, at least not as far as Toki could tell. Dr. Rockzo had a generally pleasant demeanor, one of the reasons why Toki liked him in comparison to his angst-laden friends. Case in point: Dr. Rockzo chatting away merrily while Nathan and Pickles actively ignored each other in front of him.

Toki reached down to his backpack and fished a pen to fiddle with out of the front pocket. Dr. Rockzo had other friends in this class, a group of kids who also dressed like they belonged to the 80's hair metal scene and drew their fashion inspiration from circus clowns. He found them with ease, rising from his chair and strutting over to a girl who wore her hair in huge periwinkle puffballs. Toki was left to entertain himself as Nathan was engaged with that girl and Pickles was too pissed to speak. He played with the pen, clicking the top, twirling it around his fingers, and spinning it on the table until the bell rang. Dr. Rockzo returned to the seat beside him and Nathan turned from the conversation he had to face the front of the classroom where their teacher was sitting behind his desk, typing something on the computer.

"Oh," their teacher said, looking up at his students. "I'll be with you in a minute." Their teacher was an elderly man, small and balding, the type with tenure that didn't actually want to teach anymore. At the beginning of the year some jock, one of Nathan's football buddies, had started a betting pool on when Mr. Marshall would die. Toki couldn't place a bet since he had no money, but he wouldn't have anyway. He felt the idea to be mean. Nathan betted sometime in the next five years; Pickles took a gamble and gave an exact date and cause of death, March 27th and heart attack; Murderface had declared betting gay.

After a minute or two Mr. Marshall rose from his seat. He cleared his throat and walked around the front of his desk to just in front of the first lab table in the center aisle, Toki's aisle. "As you see on the board," he began, sweeping his arm behind him to gesture to a whiteboard crammed with tiny handwriting in purple dry-erase marker, "we'll be going over the properties of these chemicals." He sounded bored and Toki forgave him; Toki was bored too.

Mr. Marshall lectured for half of the class, dull voice soldiering on through the dull material. He was accompanied by a PowerPoint of pictures and diagrams. Toki placed his head in his hand and let his mind wander. He could see that in front of him Pickles was scrolling through something on his phone, hand hidden beneath the edge of the table, and Nathan had his head down, sleeping. Beside him, Dr. Rockzo was texting one of his friends in the class; the two of them kept sneaking grins at each other. Mr. Marshall was either oblivious or didn't care what his students did, both attributes that Toki liked his teachers to possess. When Mr. Marshall reached the end of his lecture he let out a little sigh, happy to be finished with it himself, and passed out a worksheet. Pickles would normally prod Nathan awake at this time, stick a pen in his side with a smile, but Toki felt that he had to do it today. He ripped a blank piece of paper from his notebook, crumpled it into a tight sphere, and threw it at Nathan's head. Nathan stirred and moved his head around like an awakened giant, confused for a second. The person seated in front of him placed the worksheets, recently passed back, on his table. Nathan set his off to the side and turned around to give Toki his and Dr. Rockzo's, expression blank. Pickles was left to snatch his worksheet from in front of Nathan while he wasn't looking.

"You're welcome," Toki said.

Nathan muttered something unintelligible in response. Toki resisted the urge to let out a sigh.

They weren't supposed to work together on Mr. Marshall's assignments but Dr. Rockzo pestered him for the answers anyway. Toki gave them, not sure if they were correct and not particularly caring. He worked fast, bullshitting most of the answers, because if he didn't finish by the end of class he'd have to do it for homework and he didn't want that. He wouldn't have anything to do at home besides homework (and chores), but he still didn't want a heap to plow through. It was the principal of the thing.

In front of him, Pickles was scribbling furiously on his paper, glaring at the lines asking for responses like they had personally insulted him. Nathan had put his head down again, drooling on the corner of his worksheet. Toki watched as Pickles shot a glance to Nathan and his worksheet, face screwed up in inner debate, eyebrows curved in a pathetically sad manner. Pickles would sometimes take Nathan's assignments while he was sleeping and do them for him and Toki could see that Pickles wanted to do that now, but he guessed Pickles restrained himself, as he huffed and went back to his own work.

Chemistry passed by uneventfully. Toki finished his worksheet five minutes before the bell rang; the only good thing in his so far terrible day. He collected his things and placed his backpack on the lab table, waiting. He had just lifted a piece of his hair in front of his face to examine it, possibly for split ends, when Dr. Rockzo poked him in his upper arm with the eraser end of his pencil.

"Rockzo's real k-k-sorry that we can't hang out this weekend," Rockzo said. He was sincere, eyebrows raised. Rockzo wore heavy make-up, heavier than some of the girls, and Toki found his eyes drawn to his incredibly thick eyeliner. Rockzo was clownish and Toki found it charming, though everybody else he talked to hated Rockzo with a passion, calling him every name in the book and throwing insults at his back. Toki had admiration for Rockzo: the boy took it all in stride and continued to strut in his ridiculous clothes with his equally ridiculous posse. They were proud, and though they were brash and oftentimes obnoxious, Toki had respect for them, envied the way they lived their lives without barriers.

"Me too," Toki said, because he was sorry that they couldn't hang out.

The bell rang shortly thereafter. Toki slung his backpack over his shoulders and adjusted it as he walked. He was the first out of class and he made his way through the halls unbothered to his next one, English, where he deposited his backpack on the floor by his desk and slid himself in. He was one of the first students to arrive to the class, only a girl that Toki didn't really know occupying another desk. His English class was small and cluttered, which Toki did not appreciate. Small spaces made him antsy.

He read the quote on the board, "Don't laugh at a youth for his affectations; he is only trying on one face after another to find his own.—Logan Pearsall Smith" over and over again, finding it oddly cryptic, to pass the time until Murderface arrived from his first period Physical Education class. Toki had knocked his physical education credit requirement out freshman year, not wanting to have to deal with it in the future, but Murderface had done logic backflips that convinced him that he should take it sophomore year. None of Murderface's other friends were taking the class, and he had gym first period, making him sweat and stink for the rest of the day. The logic backflips had involved something about getting laid (sophomore girls were the easiest to impress with athletics, apparently, though "athletic" was the last word one would apply to Murderface, except for perhaps "handsome" or "pleasant") and he contradicted himself early on by repulsing everybody around him with his after-gym stench. It wasn't a smart decision, but Murderface wasn't a smart guy.

Murderface bustled in, looking a not-so-hot mess with his hair disheveled and clothes wrinkled from dressing out. He was panting and red-faced, bringing the smell of unfiltered body odor to the desk beside Toki. Toki was used to it by now, the smell just a stronger concentration of Murderface's natural fragrance, and turned to look at him.

"Hey, Murderface," he said. He played with one of the gaping holes in the knees of his jeans, rubbing the flap of denim and feeling the crevice of his kneecap.

"Hello, Toki," Murderface breathed out. The girl that sat in front of him turned around to give him a disgusted look, offended by his very existence; Murderface returned a lecherous smile. "Yeah, schweetheart?"

"Do you know what's up with Nathan and Pickle?" He asked Murderface, halfway to prevent conflict with the girl, who had stuck up her nose and was muttering under her breath to her friend in the seat beside her.

Though Murderface's head was bobbing with his effort to breathe, his expression changed itself instantly. His eyebrows shot up, eyes widening, and he grinned, exposing the gap between his two front teeth. "No, what isch?"

"I don't know, that's why I was asking you," Toki sighed. "They were not speaking to each other last period, in Chemistry."

Murderface shrugged. "I haven't scheen them schince Dick picked me up at Nathan'sch housche Schunday, and they scheemed fine then. Don't worry about it, Toki, it'sch probably juscht a lover'sch schpat, as they schay."

Toki did worry about it, however, and the worry grew as he trudged through English class. Nathan and Pickles not speaking to each other would cause a problem with his plans for this weekend, and that was a selfish reason to worry about something, but it was the one most prominent in his mind. Nathan never went to a show without Pickles and vice-versa, the two musically inseparable, and if Nathan couldn't go then Toki would lose his parents acting as Toki's advocates to his own parents. Murderface would get mad at him, irrationally, though he'd probably still go to the concert with Dick, and Toki would be left alone to stew in his self-pity as he worked all day Saturday at whatever inane things his father wanted him to do. Worse was the idea of being able to go to the show and Nathan taking Pickles along in a silent, premade agreement. Pickles would show up at Nathan's house, ringing the doorbell before crossing his arms over his chest and casting his head to the side, grumbling a greeting when Nathan's mother answered the door. Pickles would be distant, mumbling a response when necessary, and Nathan would be completely silent. Pickles would still ride shotgun and clog the truck with an awkward atmosphere. They wouldn't speak to each other, or anybody at the show, or on the way home, would either get too drunk or not drunk at all, and the whole thing would turn into a huge mess. That was all Toki could think about through English—not the symbolism in the book they were reading as he was supposed to, but on the idea that Pickles and Nathan could disrupt his plans. Murderface's misogynistic jokes—their teacher was a woman around her mid-thirties—couldn't even get Toki to stop obsessing about the idea that he would not be allowed to attend the Fuckface Academy show. It felt universally important to him for reasons he wasn't quite sure of, drastically and cosmically necessary, like he would combust if he didn't see them.

Worry was practically walking beside him on his way to his third period 3D Art class, a heavy burden sprouting from his chest like a conjoined twin. Today they were painting sculptures they had made last week, having sufficiently cooled down over the weekend, and Toki tried very hard to focus on his. He had sculpted a miniature battle axe and was extremely proud of it. 3D Art was his best class and he loved it, his teacher complimenting him constantly and other students staring in envy at his incredible ability to work with his hands, and he really didn't want to fuck this battle axe up. He painted in small, careful strokes because he was nervous and his mind was elsewhere. He accomplished barely anything in the class period. He would have to paint more quickly next time, which would leave more room for error, and he was not having a good day, not at all. The worry that had begun in his chest had climbed its way out, was now as real and three-dimensional as the battle axe that he was turning over in his hands, was sitting beside him and pestering him. The teacher called for the students to return their work to the spot in the back of the class and he did so, cradling his sculpture in his hands because it honestly felt like his baby. He bit his bottom lip until the bell rang, bouncing his leg up and down in anticipation, and threw his backpack over his shoulder as soon as he heard the first tinny note.

The art studio was in a different building then his math class and he dashed through the courtyard in a hurry, the unbuttoned shirt he was wearing over a t-shirt billowing behind him as his backpack fell off his shoulders. He always arrived with enough time to spare and wasn't worried about being late, but he needed to talk to Pickles as soon as possible. He collided with a kid that he recognized from his church, a short, mousy fellow with a curved nose and shouted an apology over his shoulder. The kid sneered at him, raising a claw-like hand in his direction, but Toki didn't have time to focus on this kid's particular brand of weirdness, not today. He met a traffic backlog on the stairs, apathetic teenagers that were clearly too cool for school moving at the slowest pace possible, and he was beginning to feel murderous with annoyance. By the time he reached his math class he was ready to tear somebody's head off by the top of their mouth and throw it like a javelin, watch brain matter and blood splatter against and roll down a wall. He festered in this feeling, the fantasy delighting him in a perverse way he tried to push down.

Pickles was already in the room, body splayed across his chair, languid. His elbow was resting on what was Toki's desk, legs outstretched in the aisle, and he was speaking halfheartedly to somebody across from him. Pickles didn't pay any attention to Toki as Toki stepped over Pickles's legs, and he only paused in his conversation to turn around and look at Toki when Toki sat down and budged Pickles's elbow to get it off his desk. Sometime between first and fourth period Pickles must've lit up—probably skipped one of his classes to go get high, either by himself or with that group of guys he kept talking about forming a band with that were as equally into drugs as he was—because his eyes were red and lidded. He was calm in comparison to first period, smiling a little as Toki slid his elbow off the desk.

"What's up?" he asked. Toki had not yet decided if the fact that Pickles drugged himself up was going to be beneficial or unhelpful. He would be more agreeable, placated, but this could serve as a deterrent to the topic of conversation Toki wanted to discuss. Pickles was known to make exquisite promises while intoxicated, would guarantee you the world and stars as far as the eye could see, that he would not follow up on once sober. Toki trusted Pickles, but not fully in this state. Toki would approach the situation with caution.

"I should be asking you that!" Toki's voice slid into a higher pitch. He found it hard to be mad at a drugged-up Pickles, who was too cool of a guy to ever really get mad at, but the memory of a pissed Pickles lingered in his mind. He could get mad at a pissed Pickles, and so he focused on the image of Pickles hunched over and scribbling at a million miles a minute with fury furled up in his body, feline in his anger.

"Yeah?" Pickles asked. He put his elbow back on Toki's desk and rested his head in his hand, looked up at Toki through his eyelashes. He was still smiling lightly, looking complacent and out of it.

"Yeah!" Toki curled his fingers into his palms. He was growing angry quickly, but it wasn't at Pickles as much as was at his life, at himself. Nathan and Pickles didn't fight much, or at all, and he was concerned for his friends and their friendship, but he was mostly concerned for himself. His motives were not unselfish; he was not driven by the pureness of his heart. He was driven by the desire to be able to attend the fucking Fuckface Academy concert this weekend.

"Then ask, dood." Pickles smirked some variant of a smirk, but he was too stoned to move his face that much, and batted his eyelashes at Toki. Toki had no idea what Pickles was trying to accomplish with his actions, but Pickles probably didn't know, either.

Toki sighed and put his hands on his thighs to push off and arch his back. His muscles were hurting from a combination of yesterday's labor and stress. His back crackled and popped, pleasing Toki. "Why are you and Nathan mad with each other?" He asked, still stretching. The question wasn't quite what he was going for, but he had troubles articulating his thoughts in his basic level of English and Pickles couldn't speak Norwegian.

"Oh," Pickles said. His face fell and he let out a long, loose breath as he looked down at Toki's desk, eyelids drooping. "That."

Unfortunately for Toki, the bell rang before Pickles could elaborate and their math teacher—an excited young lady with a great enthusiasm for the subject—sprang from her seat and into action. Toki knew he wouldn't be able to talk to Pickles at all in this class period, not with their teacher babbling on about formulas and variables for forty minutes nonstop. He had feared that this would happen. He did have lunch after this class and would be able to walk to the cafeteria with Pickles and interview him then, but first he spent the forty minutes of Algebra II wanting to either die or kill somebody. His thoughts flickered back to the head-as-a-javelin fantasy. His teacher finished within a minute of the bell ringing and he scrambled to write down their assignment, twenty problems on natural logarithms, which was guaranteed to be a lot of calculator work and therefore a quick assignment. Of course he was given a light load of homework on a day where he was too agitated to properly enjoy it. When the bell rang he pushed his things haphazardly into his backpack and poked Pickles in the back, as Pickles had fallen asleep sometime during the lesson and was snoring softly.

"Come on, Pickle," Toki said, poking Pickles repeatedly as Pickles raised his head, "we have to go to lunch." Toki was already standing, one hand denting Pickles's back and the other holding the strap of his backpack. He needed to adjust them so that they wouldn't slip when he walked, but he couldn't do that when he was standing with his backpack on, and would probably forget by the next time he sat down. He thought of asking Pickles to remind him, but Pickles would also forget, especially in the haze of his highness.

"'Kay," Pickles said. He moved out of his chair lazily, stretching and yawning. Pickles didn't bring anything to this class, his nap a seemingly premade decision. He walked in front of Toki and Toki trailed behind him, willing Pickles to move faster, but Pickles did not. Toki stared at Pickles's dreadlocks in fascination. They were quite well-kept as far as dreadlocks went, extending neatly down his back and bouncing as he walked.

Toki was able to get beside Pickles when they left the classroom and started walking in the direction of the lunchroom. Toki, Pickles, Nathan and Murderface all had the same lunch period, something Toki normally considered a blessing, but today he thought of it as a curse. Pickles wasn't moving to initiate conversation, head lolling around to stare at things that caught his interest without any social consciousness.

"So," Toki said when they were about halfway to the cafeteria, "you and Nathan?" He was wringing his hands, a nervous habit. His backpack slipped down his shoulders again.

"Oh, that," Pickles said again, rotating his head to face Toki. He was walking at a leisurely pace; Toki had to physically slow himself down to match Pickles. It was odd to Toki to look down at Pickles while speaking to him. Toki had been the shortest one in the group until recently, when he went through a growth spurt and sprang up four inches taller almost overnight. He was even with Murderface but shorter than Nathan, who was a giant in comparison.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" Toki asked. He stuck his tongue between his teeth, another nervous habit. He was apprehensive, felt like Pickles had grabbed handfuls of his nerve endings and was shaking them.

Pickles thought for a moment. "Yeah, sure, alright." He shoved his hands into his pockets and scratched at his thighs. Toki could tell he was itching to smoke something. Pickles had been suspended for a week when he was caught smoking outside of the gates of school a half-hour before school started during the first half of freshman year, a mistake he swore he'd never make again.

Toki exhaled, relief wracking his body like he'd just breathed out the breath he'd been holding since he was born. He stopped wringing his hands and he bought them to his armpits, where they tightened on his backpack straps. He looked at Pickles with anticipation.

"He told me that he's gonna ask Abigail out," Pickles said. He scowled and sucked his bottom lip in between his teeth. His Wisconsin accent picked up a mechanical whininess when he was stoned, exaggerating the sentence in an almost humorous manner. Toki had to resist the urge to laugh.

"Is that all?" They were almost to the cafeteria now; they didn't have time for a long story. Toki wasn't worried if that was the extent of the feud; fighting over a girl was something that could be easily settled by the girl herself and Toki doubted that Abigail would want to date Nathan. She wasn't the type of girl that was usually into guys like Nathan, as far as Toki knew. The news was draining, liberating, and Toki felt all the nasty little feelings that had been residing in his chest beginning to slide down and out.

"No," Pickles muttered, bottom lip still in his mouth. He let it loose and continued speaking. "He told me he hooked up with her at this party we went to, on Saturday."

"Oh," Toki said. His initial reaction was that of jealousy—Murderface, Nathan, and Pickles had all gone to a party on Saturday. Toki was not able to go because his parents had ordered a new bedframe and he spent all day assembling it just for them to decide they didn't even want it and to return it. When that subsided, his old pals nervousness and worry crept back into their crevices in his chest. Adding sex into rifts was never a good idea, and here he was, faced with the idea that Pickles's and Nathan's legendary best friendship was being put to the test by a silly, inconsequential female and the attraction they spurred in men.

"Yeah," Pickles said, scowling hard. He was practically shaking. "Like the fucker didn't know I'm in love with her." He drummed his fingers against his thighs and spat on the ground. "Shit," he muttered, "I'm gonna have to take a smoke break after lunch."

"Well, Pickle," Toki began, feeling awkward and thankful that the door to the cafeteria was in sight, just a mere twenty feet ahead, "do you think Abigail would go out with him?"

Pickles groaned. "I dunno, Toki," he said. "Women, they're mysterious. And my God, what a woman she is."

Toki did not have any advice to offer. Relationships were foreign to him, just another thing that other people had and he didn't. He wasn't allowed to date until he was of marrying age and he had never even made any form of romantic contact with a girl. Not that any girl was interested in him. As far as he could tell, everybody thought he was weird. He hoped with all of his might that Nathan and Pickles would be able to reach an agreement by themselves and that he could watch this fight from the sidelines until it was over, which he wished would be soon. At least by this weekend.

They reached the cafeteria and Toki held the door open for Pickles. They split ways then; Toki went to their usual table, where Nathan and Murderface were already sitting, while Pickles went to buy some food. Toki was not allowed to buy food at school, which for some reason existed independently outside of the fact he wasn't allowed to have money on him.

He took a seat opposite Nathan, who had his hands wrapped around a hamburger, and to the right of Murderface, who had a fat sandwich squeezed between his grubby paws.

"Hey guys," Toki said. He shed his backpack and placed it by his feet. He pulled a bottle of water and a granola bar from the side pocket, uncapped the water bottle and unwrapped the granola bar. He had run out of the fun flavors, like chocolate chip and s'mores too soon, and was faced with raisin. He suspected his parents were fucking around with his food again, which they used to do a lot more when he was younger, before they needed his strength to provide for them. But when he was little, they used to like to do this thing where they fed him in tiny portions for a week or two, and then forced him to eat a feast (usually after church), inevitably making him sick. It was one of their longer punishments, pulled out if he'd done something really bad, like if he hadn't gotten enough wood or fish for the winter.

"Hey, Toki," Murderface said through a mouthful of sandwich. Food crumbs dotted his face and dribbled down his shirt, an unappealing sight. Toki averted his eyes to Nathan.

Nathan grunted an unenthusiastic hello. He looked pissed still, heavy brow furrowed and body hunched. Toki figured it would be best to leave him alone and took a bite of his granola bar. He hated raisin.

Pickles did not sit with them at lunch, which Toki found both shockingly unusual and unsurprising. Pickles instead sat with his druggie friends across the cafeteria. Nathan looked over at them a few times during lunch but did nothing else except eat and sulk the whole time. Pickles was laughing and taking in a large amount of food, but he looked off to Toki, depressed even. Toki talked to Murderface during lunch and made plans to go to the skatepark on Thursday; Toki would tell his parents that he had to stay after school in the library to study for his English test on Friday. It would buy him a few hours of free time.

After lunch Toki had German by himself. He conjugated verbs lethargically, depressed by the lack of developments in Nathan and Pickles's dispute. He really wanted them to work things out and figured that the issue would come to a head after Nathan asked Abigail out. He had all three of the other guys in his next class, World History, and he might be able to talk to Nathan then. He probably wouldn't be able to, though, as Pickles's presence would push Nathan into silence.

He was right. Sixth period was tense and no matter how hard Murderface and Toki tried to lift the pressure, Nathan and Pickles brooded in front of them. The teacher droned on about the French revolution and Robespierre and his usurpation by execution by his own people and Toki stared at the back of Pickles's head and his well-kept dreads. He was concerned for their friendship, sure, but he was mostly concerned for himself. His parents' oppression put an end to anything he might ever want to do; including being able to provide transportation to events that he wanted to attend without relying on Nathan and his old truck, and the idea that a petty problem would put an end to his plans caused rage to boil inside of him. He had let himself be excited about the concert; he should've known better. He was stupid, dreaming insipid dreams, and as much as the thought spilled acid down his throat, his parents were right. He would never do anything with his life, never amount to anything, never, never, never, and he dreamt of their heads under the guillotine. Then he felt bad about that, shame blooming throughout his body, and he lowered his forehead to the desk for the rest of class.

"I'm getting real schick of thisch," Murderface said as Toki walked with him out of the classroom when the period was over. Nathan and Pickles had bolted, running into each other and sending deathly glares before exiting in a hurry. Murderface's last class of the day, Spanish, was near Toki's, Home Ec, so they walked in that direction together.

"Me too," Toki said, nodding. "Do you know why they're mad with each other?"

"No, why?" Murderface shoved a small freshman girl out of his way as he said this through gritted teeth. The girl fell down; Murderface chuckled. The girl struggled to pick herself up, but Murderface had lost interest in her by now, instead looking ahead and down the hall.

"Nathan is going to ask Abigail out," Toki said.

"Abigail, asch in Charlesch'sch friend Abigail? The Abigail Picklesch hasch a masschive boner for?"

Toki nodded in response. His backpack slid down his shoulders again; he told himself inwardly that he was going to tighten the straps as soon as he got to Home Ec, no exceptions.

Murderface snorted. "Sche'sch not going to schay yesch, he schouldn't waschte hisch time."

Toki shrugged and groaned. "I just want to go to the Fuckface Academy concert this weekend," he said. "If Nathan and Pickles are still mad at each other…"

"They'll work it out," Murderface said. "They're too in love with each other to schtay mad."

Toki laughed hard enough to garner stares. He wiped away small tears at the corner of his eyes as he said goodbye to Murderface and entered his Home Ec class, still giggling to himself. It was funny because it was true. He forgot to tighten the straps of his backpack when he sat down.

Monday closed with Toki lying in his bed, on his stomach, at the premature time of 8:30. His heated face was pressed into his pillow, the cold underside that he had flipped over. He felt raw, was raw, his scratchy blanket rubbing against his bare skin. He was sleeping in just his boxers tonight; it was too hot for proper pajamas, and he'd been too upset to even think about pulling on a pair of pants or a shirt when he had stumbled into his room.

He had fucked up the first chore he had attempted to do, which was dust the antique cabinet. He'd broken something from Norway, a cheap and hideous glass statuette. He had suspicions that these ugly glass knickknacks that looked out of place with the family heirlooms were placed as a test for him, and it was a test he had failed as the thing, a translucent starfish, tumbled out of his hands and broke against the tiled floor of his kitchen. Glass had gotten everywhere, tiny shards rolling under the cabinet and speckling the ground around his feet. He had had to pick them all up by hand while his father watched, still and silent as the glass statuettes lined up in the cabinet. He had pointed to a spot on the kitchen table where Toki was to put the glass pieces when he collected them, and Toki had to swallow back dreading bile. He had known that he would be robbed of lunch and probably dinner when the starfish fell, but he hadn't the slightest clue about what would happen with the glass. He collected the pieces in his palm and deposited them on the table; it took him four trips to get it all.

His father had sighed, a long, rattling exhalation like the wind rubbing the branches of dead trees together. He gestured for Toki to remove his shirt, which he did, thinking about his father's favorite: the whip. Then his father took him by the shoulders and turned him around; Toki was surprised by how strong his father seemed, the brittle hands with the long fingers feeling sturdy on his shoulders. His father had forced him to bend down with a hand on the base of his neck. Toki had been bent at a slight angle in the kitchen, a few feet away from the sink and the window above it. His father had walked to the window and shut the curtains.

When he returned from the window, his father had selected the largest piece of glass and drew it across his back in the pattern of a cross. He drug it through the scarred mess Toki's back had become, the motions steady and precise, never varying. He had finished by slicing through his skin perpendicular to the vertical line he'd drawn, just under Toki's shoulder blades. When his father had finished he stood, placed the bloody glass on the table, and he had said, "Boy, you need God more than anyone else," in hoarse Norwegian. He had picked Toki's shirt up, had handed it to him and had gestured to the glass on the table, indicating Toki should clean it up the proper way now. Toki had had to scrub the table down, since there was blood on it now.

It had been a shallow cut but it had bled, staining the back of his shirt, and he finished his chores as his back bled against his clothes. He wasn't in the mood to do anything but eat his dinner (which he was allowed to, though he'd been denied lunch) and take a shower after he finished cleaning the house and so he neglected his homework and went to lie in bed. He'd done a bad thing by getting the bandages out of his parents' bathroom to wrap his back in while they were watching television downstairs, and if they discovered missing bandages he was surely going to be punished more, which he wasn't looking forward to. In his bed he sighed against the pillow. His back wasn't stinging or bleeding, but all he could think of was what he'd seen in the bathroom mirror as he bandaged his skin: a pink cross on his back that his father had drawn in a way across his scars, too shallow to join them, but memorable enough to preside in his mind forever. Such was the nature of his life.

In Tuesday and Wednesday, Toki found more of the same. His parents hadn't noticed their missing bandages and Toki took extra care through the rest of his chores, dodging further punishment. He couldn't afford to screw up his chances to see Fuckface Academy, though those weren't looking too good. Nathan and Pickles weren't speaking to each other and Nathan had not yet asked Abigail out; there was no resolution to their rift. Pickles was grumpy even when he smoked, which was a new thing that Toki didn't like, and he sat in school quietly fuming. The problem was beginning to look a lot more serious than Toki had previously thought, like there was more than just Abigail bugging Pickles, but Toki wasn't about to pry into that. He bided his time with Murderface, who was trying to act like Pickles and Nathan weren't bothering him but Toki could tell they were. Murderface got weird about people fighting sometimes.

There was hope on Thursday.

Pickles was late to first period. Rockzo and the girl Nathan spoke to were absent that day. Thus, Nathan and Toki were left alone in their quadrant for a few minutes. Nathan turned around in his chair and sat with his arms on top of the edge and legs straddling the back, chin resting on his folded arms, eyes boring into Toki's. Toki was uncomfortable, but he was also curious, so he let Nathan speak.

"I'm going to ask Abigail out today," he announced. He did not seem too happy about it. "I think it's right since I fucked her at the party." He was scowling more than usual and he lowered his eyes to the floor when he finished his sentence instead of looking at Toki directly.

Toki gulped and nodded. There was not enough time left in the week for things to be made right, he had decided. Doom and gloom and dread and unhappiness hung above him, black clouds gathering on the horizon, and all he could do was sit and wait for the storm. "Do you really think that?" The question was a weak attempt and he knew it; he knew Nathan was sure and Pickles was sure and he knew everything sucked.

"Yeah," Nathan said. "I mean, nobody else does, but I do. Charles told me that she was pretty drunk and she says she couldn't consent or whatever, but I still think it's, like, the right thing to do." He spoke the longest sentence Toki had ever heard him speak without using a curse word, even when they met as scrawny, miniature sixth graders, and it was the single scariest thing that had happened all week.

"What about Pickle?" Toki tugged at the collar of his shirt and pushed his tongue around in his mouth.

"What about Pickles? He didn't have a chance with her anyway." Nathan scoffed and casted his head off to the side. Not the side where Pickles would sit, but the other side, towards the part of the classroom lined with lab supplies. He rested his cheek on his arms, hair falling over the edge of the chair.

"It's not nice." Toki knew it was futile, but he couldn't stop talking. Maybe Nathan would realize what was going on before he tried to ask her out; maybe Pickles would suddenly lose interest in her; maybe Abigail would decide to move to China. Each option was as likely as the others.

"Fuck being nice. I'm asking her out after school." And with that, Nathan picked his body up and turned himself around.

Toki breathed out through his nose. His chest hurt. He thought of the pink cross on his back, already fading, definitely not going to scar. He thought about guillotines and javelins and blood and gore and death and splashing his face with the chemicals they worked with in the lab today, chugging down his test tubes like a can of mediocre beer, wiping his mouth and waiting for death to wrap its arms around him. He wasn't feeling suicidal, though, often felt murderous if he was going to apply a death-causing adjective to himself, and when class ended, he had caused no harm nor good to the world.

When Toki told Murderface about what Nathan was going to do, as they were sitting in second period English and Murderface was breathing hard from the exertion of Physical Education, Murderface asked Toki, "Are you going to tell Picklesch?"

"Tell Pickle?" Toki's eyes widened and he bent backwards in his seat. The thought had not occurred to him. Pickles already knew that Nathan was going to ask her out, but he didn't know a time or a place, and Toki didn't feel like providing him with enough information to hire a hit man or embarrass himself by showing up. Toki forced a groan back down his throat just thinking of what could possibly go wrong if he told Pickles, like the situation wasn't already as wrong as it could be. "No. No, I am not going to tell Pickle."

"That'sch a good idea," Murderface said, placing his hands beside his head and reclining. "I don't know what Picklesch would do if he knew."

However, Toki didn't get a chance to not tell Pickles. When he walked into his fourth period, he could tell Pickles knew. Toki could feel the sheer fury rising off of him from where he stood in the doorway. He approached Pickles like one would approach a wild cat, took his seat and put his backpack on the ground in slow motion. He crunched his body up and slid lower in his seat, anticipating Pickles's explosion.

Pronouncing Pickles as pissed would have been an understatement. He turned around in his seat in a way that reminded Toki of the little girl rotating her head in the Exorcist, slow and wide-eyed, absolutely insane. Pickles snarled, bared his teeth, and lunged at Toki like he was going to wrap his hands around Toki's neck. He stopped himself before he could do it, chest rising and falling as he struggled to keep himself calm. He sounded like a steam whistle, puffing hard. His face was a red color that was daring to match his hair, his eyes narrowed, nose scrunched. Frightening—Pickles was frightening.

"Douchebag," Pickles said. Toki wasn't sure who Pickles was talking about and wasn't going to ask him. Pickles breathed for a while, and then elaborated. "Charles told me, yeah, right before I came in here. Can't believe Nathan, my best friend, my fucking buddy, is doing this to me."

"Well—" Toki wanted to say something like, he feels bad about it, or it's just a girl, Jesus Christ get over yourselves, but nothing formed and he let his sentence drop off.

"What a betrayal," Pickles continued. He adjusted himself so he was sitting sideways in his desk, feet in front of him. He rubbed his hands on his knees and looked down at the floor. His face was beginning to unfurl itself, muscles relaxing. "What a motherfucking betrayal."

Toki continued to say nothing; he wasn't quite sure that Pickles was talking to him or just talking to himself with the excuse of Toki being there.

"You know, I'm mad as fuck, mad as balls mad, I'm pissed, Toki. But I—I just can't believe it. She ain't even his type, you know that?" Pickles lifted his head and exhaled. Toki actually watched for the smoke to slip out between Pickles's lips, but obviously there would be none. Toki thought there should be, though. Pickles appeared to be completely sober. "He likes whores, he likes metal chick whores. Abigail is—she's classy, she's a classy as fuck chick. He shouldn't want her." His shoulders drew up as his hands clasped around his knees for a few seconds before he loosened his hands and let his shoulders drop, defeated.

Toki sighed. This was tedious. He was grateful when the bell rang and his teacher began her daily ramblings on the subject of Algebra II, as it meant that Pickles dropped his head on his desk and didn't come up for air until the end of class. Toki doodled in his notebook under the disguise of taking notes; he drew a wildcat with dreadlocks pouncing on a panther. Toki had taken 2D Art freshman year and he wasn't as good at drawing as he was at sculpting, but he was objectively okay, and soon he'd drawn out a whole scene. He inked tall trees hiding a sun and casting shade, a grotesque white tiger lurking near the edge of the page and half-hidden by branches. He placed a small cat sitting with its tail in front of the mouth of the forest, watching the wildcat and the panther and looking as worried as a cat could be. He spent the rest of the day polishing the doodle-turned-drawing: lunch was tense as always with the absence of Pickles, History was tense as always with the presence of Pickles, German and Home Ec were boring and lonely. By the time the final bell rang he'd taken his emotions out on a piece of notebook paper, his friends-turned-felines immortalized in black ink, and signed his name in illegible cursive at the bottom before packing up his things and heading to the busses.

There was a fifteen minute window between school ending and the busses leaving that Toki normally spent with his friends, sitting to the right of the front steps of the school on the sidewalk. He would occasionally catch a ride home from Nathan, but Nathan's truck took sixteen minutes to get to his house while his bus took thirty-one, so he preferred the bus most days. This week he's been spending the excess time with Murderface just outside the busses, leaning over the railing that separated the school from the parking lot and listening as Murderface griped and complained about whatever was aggravating him that day. Pickles had spent the week with his druggie friends and Nathan had been leaving directly after school. Today Toki was supposed to meet Murderface by their usual spot, by the front steps, and they were going to go to the skatepark via walking; it wasn't too far from the school. Home Ec was located on the second floor of the same building the art studio was in, so he would have to traverse the courtyard to get to the front of the school.

In the courtyard he found commotion. Standing directly in the middle, surrounded by a crowd of amused students, and engaged in an embarrassingly public shouting match was no other than Nathan and Abigail. Abigail wasn't doing the shouting but standing with her arms crossed, blushing and body language indicating that she'd rather be anywhere else. Charles was behind her, hand gripped on Pickles's shoulder, forehead creased. Murderface was behind Nathan and holding his head in his hands—even Murderface was mortified. As Toki came closer to the scene he realized that Murderface and the others had every right to be ashamed, as Nathan was making a gargantuan fool out of himself.

"But you—" He shouted. He was leaning into the conversation, back curved and body moving with every syllable of every word. His eyebrows were upturned, mouth hanging open. He looked pathetic, a saddened hulk, like an ancient god of the sea who was about to unleash a rainstorm in their depression.

"Nathan, please, don't, not here," Abigail said through gritted teeth. She pinched the bridge of her nose. She was tapping her foot and looked ridiculously professional in comparison. She dressed for school like one would dress to go to work: chaste skirts and blouses, low heals. She was like Charles in that manner, who always wore button-down shirt and either fashionable khaki shorts or slacks with either immaculate topsiders or shiny loafers. Toki often wondered why Nathan and Pickles hung around them; though he knew they enjoyed death metal, they were also in fierce competition for the top spot in the junior class, Charles occupying it at the moment.

"But—" Nathan was at a loss for words. Toki was standing beside Murderface now and he shot him a questioning look that Murderface couldn't see anyway. Toki had gathered the gist of the situation, it was apparent: Nathan had asked Abigail out and things were not going well.

Charles moved like he wanted to stand beside Abigail and come to her defense, but he was preoccupied with Pickles, who was spazzing out. Toki couldn't identify any one emotion on Pickles, the other boy simply going haywire with information. His limbs were flailing and he was sputtering, forming words halfway before they died on his tongue and new ones came through. Toki was shocked that Pickles wasn't foaming at the mouth. The mob around Nathan and Abigail and their drama was thinning, teenagers coming to the realization that this wasn't as entertaining so much as it was pitiful, and within another minute there was only Toki, his friends, Charles and Abigail left.

Nathan hadn't given up; he was still trying to articulate something. His eyes were stretched enough to be able to see the pink underneath, his hands reaching out to grab at the air, hair in his face. His back was quaking with the effort of speaking and of the brutal emotional toll wracking his body. "You—you let me—"

"Nathan, she was drunk," Charles said finally, both hands on Pickles now; he had moved him around so that he stood in front of him.

"It didn't mean anything," Abigail added, letting her arms drop loose and making little encouraging motions with her arms. "I'm sorry, but I just don't feel the way you, um, do, I guess."

Nathan floundered, flabbergasted, and eventually let loose himself, shoulders drooping. Murderface and Toki rushed to him out of instinct, though they didn't have the slightest clue as to what they were supposed to do in this situation. Pickles had gone still beneath Charles's hands and Charles released them, walking calmly to Abigail and collecting her. They exited quietly while Nathan stared at the ground, stunned. Pickles imitated Nathan, though his eyes were on his friend and not the floor.

"You—you okay, Buddy?" Murderface asked, extending an arm to pat Nathan on the back. He sent a look to Toki asking for help; Toki raised his eyebrows shrugged.

"No," Nathan choked out. He opened his mouth several times to say something else, but couldn't find anything and just shut up. He jerked Murderface's arm off of him and sauntered off in the distance, towards the student parking lot. Pickles followed Nathan with his gaze, body curved in indecision, obviously debating on whether or not to run after Nathan or to go home. Since Pickles strode off in the direction of the busses and not the student parking lot, Toki guessed he decided to go home. As Pickles walked past Murderface and Toki, who were still standing dumfounded in the middle of the courtyard, he muttered "Douchebag," but once again Toki wasn't sure who Pickles was talking about or who Pickles was talking to.

Toki and Murderface gawked at each other for a handful of seconds. Toki had predicted this outcome; Nathan had as much of a chance with Abigail as he did of graduating head of the class, or even graduating at all. He hadn't, however, expected something so public and utterly humiliating for every party involved. This would replace the old gossip, which was that somebody had knocked somebody else's mother up (and though that had been proven false a month ago, people were still talking about it) and for the next week-to-whenever-somebody-trumps-it-with-something-else there would be jokes and talk amongst their (and possibly Charles's and Abigail's) class. Toki supposed he didn't expect anything less of the occasionally-buffoonish Nathan.

"Scho…schkatepark?" Murderface asked, eyes begging Toki with every ounce of his being to get the fuck out of this school.

"Skatepark," Toki said, nodding.

They walked to Murderface's locker, where he had stored a skateboard for Toki. Murderface didn't skate but he had a board, a Christmas present from a few years back, which was a cheap piece of shit like everything else Murderface owned, but Toki wasn't about to complain. He skateboarded instead of walking with Murderface beside him, going on about something that had happened in his Spanish class that had really pissed him off. Neither of them were about to discuss what had happened back there; it had been an otherworldly, ethereal experience, and Toki felt that if he were to talk about it the thing would gain sentience and attack his face or something. Murderface tended to avoid emotional situations that made him uncomfortable.

Murderface hung out on the edge of the park, near the fence with the druggies and drunks, while Toki actually skated. He'd been introduced to it in seventh grade by a temporary friend, a big fan of professional boarding, though Toki had no interest in that. Toki didn't care about tricks or doing this for the rest of his life; he just liked the way he felt when he was going too fast down the pipes, watching his shirt billow behind him and hearing the air whistling past his ears and deafening him. The other guys used this as a place to get drugs and hang out with those who did drugs—the skatepark was, for some reason, the center of drug-related activity in this town—so everybody won when Toki wanted to go. The skatepark was one of their usual haunts.

He rode the half-pipe up and down for a lengthy amount of time, not interested in doing anything else for the day. It cleared his head considerably and he was sweating by the time he finished, flicking his board up with his foot and carrying it over to Murderface, who was slumped against a fence with a can of soda he'd bought from a vending machine in his hand. Toki folded himself down beside Murderface and attempted to get his hair back in place; he'd forgotten to bring something to tie it up with and it was plastered over his face and sticking out everywhere. Murderface handed him a bottle of water from his other side and Toki drank, watching the other people in the skatepark do what they did as he sat beside Murderface. He had about half an hour before they had to catch the city bus that would lead him back near his house, where they would part ways.

"We have to talk about it," Toki said when he finished drinking his water, wiping his lip with the back of his hand. "Nathan and Pickle."

"Nathan'sch schuch an idiot," Murderface snorted. He drank from his soda; his foot twitched. Murderface had been sitting in the heat for a while and it seemed that his conversation partners had wandered off. Murderface would sometimes complain about getting bored at times like this, but other times he would enjoy it, the quietness in the sweltering heat. Murderface was like Toki in that he never really wanted to go home, a characteristic they also shared with Pickles. The reluctance to return was a thing that had bought them together; they would waste time with each other just to avoid wasting time at their houses. Nathan couldn't join in on that, but he could offer a location to dawdle in and his form of sympathy.

Toki nodded. "I hope we can still go to the show on Saturday."

Murderface snorted again and ran his fingers through his hair. Like Toki, Murderface's hair was a mess, frizzy and uncooperative. "I'm schtill going," he said.. "Whether it'sch with you fagsch or not. I have Dick."

Toki sighed and felt a tug of envy in his stomach, which was weird. He was generally jealous of Nathan and Pickles, but he tended to pity Murderface more than wish he was Murderface, though now he'd trade anything in the world to be able to have the freedom that Murderface possessed. He'd once said that his grandparent's didn't give a fuck about what he did as long as he didn't get arrested or more importantly, knock a girl up. Thinking about it just pissed Toki off and so he drank from his water to distract himself and watched a particularly good skater, some kid who couldn't be older than thirteen and who was wearing skinny jeans, take the whole course in a fluid motion.

After a few minutes Toki got up to skate again, to pass the time if nothing else. He did the handrail and ended up skidding, landing on his ass towards the end while his board went off in another direction. He was done with skating after that and motioned to Murderface to leave the park. He walked with Murderface in silence, bizarrely angry at everything in the world, to the bus stop. They sat on the bench and waited for the bus. The asphalt on the road was wavering with heat, it was that intense and thick around them, humidity weighing them down. It was truly inexplicably hot, even for October in Florida.

"I can't believe it's so hot," Toki said. He was rolling the skateboard back and forth with his feet on the ground, watching it for some cheap amusement. "It's never like this in Norway."

"Here we go with the Norway schit again," Murderface said. He closed his eyes and sighed. "Why don't you go back there if you liked it so much?" Murderface was sitting like he always did; legs spread wide and unaccountably, head tipped back on the edge of the bench in a way that looked like it hurt. He was playing with a splinter to his left, trying to rip it out.

Toki didn't bother responding to that and instead said, "Heat makes people crazy, I think that's what's happening." He continued to lazily slide the board back and forth, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees and head between his fists. Cars passed by in front of him, the sound of wheels on the road comforting.

Murderface shrugged, eyes still closed and head still tipped back. "Everybody'sch schtupid, thisch schit happensch anyway."

Toki thought for a moment. "I guess that's true."

"They won't schtay mad for long, don't worry," Murderface said, cracking his eyes open. "We'll get to go to the schow, you'll schee."

The bus came a few minutes later and they boarded it; Murderface paid for Toki. They sat towards the front. It was about four in the afternoon and there weren't many people on board, but those that were tended to be weird, the type of people that take the bus in the mid-afternoon. The ride to the stop near Toki's house took about twenty minutes, and Murderface spent it texting somebody while Toki stared out the window. Murderface was acting peculiar, but that was unsurprising, because everybody was acting peculiar. Toki wondered if he'd been acting peculiar; he didn't have the self-awareness to tell. The conundrum was too much for him, and so his thoughts switched to how much he didn't want to do his homework and the fact that he probably wouldn't. When the bus came to a stop Toki put the skateboard on Murderface's lap and stepped over his legs; Murderface grunted, which doubled as an acknowledgement of the skateboard and a goodbye.

"See you tomorrow," Toki said, and then he walked down the steps. The stop was on a busy street, the one that his neighborhood hid behind. He had about ten minutes of walking to look forward to in the heat, which was a shame, as he'd just been feeling cool from the weak air conditioning on the bus. He tried to make the walk last as long as possible, going slow, but the repetition of the architecture and landscaping of his neighborhood was boring him out of his mind and he started to walk faster on instinct. It was closer to five now, just before the time where all his suburban neighbors would arrive home from work. There were some children playing in some yards, but they ignored Toki and Toki ignored them.

"Today sucked," he announced to nobody in particular when he was about halfway to his house. He stuck his hands in the pockets of his shorts and then took them back out again; it was very fucking hot. He knew that when he'd get home he'd have to clean the kitchen and the bathrooms, then cut the branches and leaves of the tree in the backyard down, then tend to the garden, which was always his last chore. He'd have to forget about doing his homework, a decision he had already made, though he wouldn't be able to think straight in the heat, and his parents would surely not turn the air conditioning on while he was cleaning the bathrooms. By the time he opened the door to his house all he could think about was taking a shower and going to bed, the only things he looked forward to anymore.

He didn't know what he was going to find when he opened the door to Chemistry. A quick scan of the classroom revealed everything to be normal: it was at halfway capacity and Mr. Marshall wasn't in the room, Rockzo was seated at the table, his hair dyed a neon orange color, and Nathan and Pickles were both present and appeared to be engaged in conversation. Still, Toki took his seat feeling uneasy, like everything around him was too good to be true.

"K-k-k-hello," Dr. Rockzo said to Toki, smiling. "I do cocaine," he added.

"I know, Rockzo," Toki said absently. He was blatantly staring at Nathan and Pickles. They had their chairs titled towards each other; Pickles was resting his elbow on the table and his head in his hand while Nathan was staring at his (own) lap. They appeared to be talking about what type of fuel Nathan used in his truck, which Toki doubted was the original topic of conversation, and though their response to each other were clipped and their facial muscles tight, they were both smiling a little. It was pleasant to see.

Toki wished he could say he was curious about how they had reunited, but he wasn't. He cared about their friendship, but only to the extent of which it affected him, and if they were in each other's good graces then that was good enough for him. They did lab work during Chemistry and Nathan almost spilled some dangerous chemical on himself, which was enough to make Pickles burst out laughing, though Nathan earned a tired lecture about safety from Mr. Marshall; he received lectures of that nature often. When Mr. Marshall's back was turned Nathan flipped him off and Pickles sniggered into his hands, snapping his lab goggles against his face when Nathan glared at him. Nathan cracked a smile; Toki felt hopeful.

Pickles always cleaned up when they did labs in class for Nathan, just like Toki always cleaned up for Rockzo. Toki felt like a housewife, the apron tied around his waist to protect his clothing and gloves on his hands. He had pushed his goggles up on his head when they finished the lab; Pickles was still wearing his. They washed their equipment side-by-side at the sinks. Wash wasn't the right word so much as rinse, no soap or sponges, just lab equipment held under the tap. Toki was uncertain about this; his chores at home had taught him that a lot of chemical was needed to erase germs.

"So is everything okay with Nathan?" Toki asked. He truly felt like a housewife.

"I guess," Pickles said. He looked at Toki, still holding a metal tray under a stream of water. "Don't worry about it."

Liberated, Toki didn't worry about it, or talk about it, except to update Murderface in English class before the test, which went okay; Toki suspected he would receive a C. Today the quote on the board read "Life is short, even for those who live a long time, and we must live for the few who know and appreciate us, who judge and absolve us, and for whom we have the same affection and indulgence. The rest I look upon as a mere crowd, lively or sad, loyal or corrupt, from whom there is nothing to be expected but fleeting emotions, either pleasant or unpleasant, which leave no trace behind them. We ought to hate very rarely, as it is too fatiguing; remain indifferent to a great deal, forgive often, and never forget.—Sarah Bernhardt." Toki and Murderface snickered at it, dismissed it as sappy bullshit, but behind his front Toki liked the quote, understood what Sarah Bernhardt was getting at, no matter how lame it might be. The phrases we must live for the few who know and appreciate us and a mere crowd stuck in his head for the rest of his day.

In 3D Art, his battle axe was almost finished, and he was certain that he would be done with it by the deadline, which was the end of class. All he had left to do was coat it with a finish, which he got to working on quickly. He hoped his teacher would appreciate the dried blood stains he had painted on it; he was trying to go for an antique effect, something a Viking had used many times and loved with all of his Viking heart. It hadn't been his best paint job, but it wasn't his worst, and he was feeling optimistic about the grade he would get. 3D Art kept his G.P.A. afloat. His teacher smiled at him when he gave it to her fifteen minutes before class ended; he was the first one done.

"I like the blood," she said. His teacher was an elderly woman with wispy, curly hair that she wore pulled back in a loose bun, tendrils framing her face. Toki felt a grandmotherly sort of affection towards her; he beamed when she approved of the blood. She was kind of a metal old chick.

In fourth period Pickles was in a benevolent mood, though agitated that he couldn't sleep through the class; they had a test. The test was difficult and the way Toki felt about it existed in stark contrast to the confidence he'd been feeling about his battle axe. When he placed his paper on the pile on his teacher's desk he was certain that he'd failed it, and he didn't really give a fuck. His parents didn't care about his grades; oddly, they just cared that he went to school every day, even when he was ill. Pickles was the first one done and was able to fit in a small nap, head on his desk and becoming nothing but a pile of red dreads.

"That test was hard," Toki muttered as they walked to lunch.

Pickles shrugged. "I don't know, I thought it was kind of easy." Toki knew this wasn't a lie; Pickles was a genuinely good student, could be one of the better ones in the class if he actually put effort into his work. He was smarter than people thought, and that was something that Toki liked about Pickles, his intelligence and the fact that he wasn't a stuck-up bitch about it. Pickles was noble in his apathy.

Pickles sat with them at lunch, next to Nathan and across from Murderface and Toki. Toki had another raisin granola bar; his mother hadn't been shopping recently. Fridays were pizza days and so the others were eating pizza, which was actually pretty good as far as school food went. Nathan had gotten four pieces, spending a ludicrous amount of money on lunch, and gave Toki the half with the curst of one.

"Thanks," Toki said, through a mouthful of pizza. He swallowed his bite and went to take another one, but Nathan's sharing of his pizza reminded him of something. "We're still going to see Fuckface Academy tomorrow, right?"

"Mmmph," Nathan said around the food in his mouth.

Toki took this as a yes. "Then can your parents call mine tonight?"

Nathan nodded; Toki took another bite of his pizza.

Lunch ended too soon, a feeling that Toki had felt often before this week but had forgotten in the midst of uncomfortable lunches spent without Pickles. It was bittersweet, wishing for more time and being happy that at least he had the want for more time with his friends. Toki actually remembered to tighten the straps of his backpack before walking to German and encountered no trouble with the pesky things for the rest of the day.

World History before the rift was easily Toki's favorite class. Not because he cared about history, because he didn't, but because the other three had it with him. They sat in the back of the classroom, Toki's desk bumping the wall. Their teacher was one of those that everybody liked but they couldn't stand, and it was fun to rile him up. Murderface asked graphic questions about the executions they used during the French revolution, specifically about quartering, drawing it out in gruesome detail until the rest of the class was green around their gills. Nathan, Pickles, and Toki were shrieking with laughter when Murderface finished his dialogue with the exclamation, "I juscht want to know the proper hischtory." Their teacher couldn't argue with a student's earnest curiosity, after all, and nobody doubted that Murderface wanted to know more about horrific murders.

Thus, Toki was in good spirits by the time he arrived home. Nathan drove him and the rest; he, Murderface, and Pickles were going to see a movie and harass people at the cinema and adjacent mall. Toki wished he could join them, but if he was going to the show the next day he knew he couldn't. He walked to his house feeling dejected regardless, longing for what other people had and he didn't, like always.

Friday had double the chores, which made sense to his parents but not to Toki. He felt that by this time in the week he deserved a break. Instead he unloaded firewood from his father's car, a ridiculous amount for autumn in Florida lying on a sheet in the trunk, and piled it in the backyard against the house, by the grill. His father went out for more after Toki finished that, which meant that he had to sweep every floor in the house twice in the meantime. He didn't understand why twice, but he was never going to ask for clarification. When his father returned Toki unloaded and piled more wood, and by then it was almost dinnertime. Around five-thirty the phone had rung; Toki hoped with all of his might that it had been Nathan's mother to talk to his. He had exited the house before he heard his own mother speak, so he couldn't be sure.

His arms and lower back were aching with strain and overuse by the time he finished the second pile of wood. The sun had set and dinner was in the process of being served. He changed his clothes to something appropriate for dinner, discarding the sweaty, torn up rags he'd been wearing to perform his chores in and putting on an ensemble that resembled more his church clothes. He took his seat at the table and took a drink of water from his glass, served from the tap with no ice. Toki had read somewhere that that was supposed to be healthy for your metabolism, which he doubted his parents knew.

He was thinking about the fact that he'd have to tend to the garden in the dark when his father put his hands on the table and stopped eating, drawing Toki's attention. He smacked his lips and then he spoke three words in gruff Norwegian, Toki's three favorite little words: "You may go."


	3. Skwisgaar Skwigelf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Skwisgaar, yay! Also, this chapter introduces some original characters, but I promise they're not annoying and serve a purpose to the overall story.

Fuckface Academy's show was at a club downtown, not too spectacular or too shabby of a venue. An archaic wooden sign was flapping over the entrance with the name of the place, Patio Lobo, displayed proud as a flag. The walls were wood panel and peeling in a stylistic manner, windows on the front too dark and unwashed to see through. The door was meshed and had a metallic doorknob cool to the touch with peeling white paint shoved off to one side. Patio Lobo stood as an independent building but was sandwiched between two strips of shops containing overpriced boutiques, thrift stores, and music stores with 50-cent records on tables out front, the standard downtown array of businesses. It was overall a dingy hipster scumbag deal, exactly the type of place you'd expect a local grunge band to play a show in. Toki was not unimpressed but was wholly underwhelmed, and he did not have high hopes for the interior of Patio Lobo, though he was kind of looking forward to hearing the band.

They weren't allowed in for the next half-hour and they were missing Murderface, who was supposed to arrive with Dick but go home with them. They loitered, standing on the sidewalk outside the music store with the 50 cent records, Nathan thumbing through the bins and Pickles twitching at his side, a cigarette hanging off his bottom lip. Toki people watched with his hands in the pockets of his cargo shorts, kicking at the ground with the toe of his shoe. Pickles was drumming out a disjointed beat against his thighs with the palms of his hands, Nathan muttering to himself about the lame selection; no death metal, just glam and hair shit. Pickles stopped drumming and leaned his body over to examine the records. He attempted to defend the genres and did not succeed, Nathan dismissing every word rolling off of Pickles's lips. Pickles sighed and sucked on the end of his cigarette, pointing away from Nathan as he exhaled.

Toki turned around and walked over to the bins. He possessed a significantly larger music taste than Nathan, though probably not as broad as Pickles's, and he found plenty of records he wanted to buy. There were albums worth far more than fifty cents nestled in with the Barbara Streisand shit you would expect to see (even if Toki did sort of like Barbara Streisand; listening to Somewhere was always an enjoyable experience). Shockingly, his parents didn't have a record player or any other relatively modern inventions besides the large television in their living room and the appliances in their kitchen. He leafed through the records with his tongue between his teeth, trying not to collapse into himself with rage and boredom as the emotions swelled and swirled inside of him. He felt dizzy, like he stood up too fast and all the blood had rushed to his head, blinding him. He bit down on his tongue and curled his fingers around a record belonging to some band he never heard of—it looked like a late 80's, early 90's all girls group. He scratched at the record's cover, his short fingernails scraping over the band's logo, anything to distract himself from the feral growl gurgling in his throat.

"Dood," Pickles said, dropping his cigarette to the ground and rubbing it into the sidewalk with the heel of his shoe, "open your mind. Broaden your horizons." This brought Toki back from his haze; he stood up and took his hands from the records, giving his attention to Pickles. Pickles was not looking at the records anymore—he pirated all of his music, a fan of anything and everything illegal—but was leaning against the wall beside them, one foot propped up against the brick, his arms crossed over his chest and his bottom lip between his teeth. Pickles looked—well, Pickles looked badass, the type of guy you wouldn't fuck with. It was something in the narrowness of his eyes and his double eyebrow piercing, Toki decided, that gave Pickles that menacing look. Toki could only desire to possess something similar.

Nathan rolled his eyes and peeled them away from the bins, towards Pickles. "Fuck that," he said simply, not caring to elaborate. He returned his attention to the records, grumbling and groaning and sounding like storm clouds collecting on the horizons he was supposed to broaden. Toki grinned, just a bit, because he knew that if Pickles wanted to see a band that exclusively preformed Gregorian covers of Linkin Park songs—which would be the type of band Pickles would want to see—Nathan would be by his side in the crowd, no matter what. He would probably lower, but he would be there. Toki wished he had a relationship like that, but he couldn't think of anybody with whom he would willingly go to a concert he knew he wouldn't like, though he supposed that wasn't quite the point. The point was that despite the grumblings and the idiosyncrasies, Nathan and Pickles had a relationship that Toki coveted. He would never voice his jealousy out loud, but it was there, sitting at the top of his throat, and it was all he could do to swallow it down.

Pickles sighed and pulled a pack of cigarettes out, slid another between his lips. "Man, these guys better be good," he said, flicking a knock-off Zippo lighter open and huddling around the flame. He lit his cigarette with much fanfare, snapping the lighter shut with his thumb and a flourish when he was finished before slipping it into his pocket again and resuming his previous stance. "I don't trust Murderface's tastes, you know."

"Nobody does," Nathan said, pulling a record from the bin. He turned to Toki and showed him the cover; a Norwegian band, obscure, Elver av Ejakulere. The name meant something to the effect of "rivers of ejaculate." Toki snorted and shook his head when Nathan asked, "Do you know these guys?"

"Just 'cause he's Norwegian doesn't mean he knows everything about the place," Pickles said, more to himself than to Nathan. He patted his thighs in the rhythm of an elaborate drum beat, the slap of hard skin hitting tight denim filling the air for some time. Toki moved his sights to the streets and thrust his hands into his pockets once more, staring at the pavement, a cracked gray victim of negligence. There was a small weed burbling up from the sidewalk to his right and he found it kind of pathetic, this attempt at nature in such a desperately urbanized place and he was feeling pretty pathetic in general by now. They'd been out here for maybe fifteen minutes and in that time more people had shown up, collecting in front of the other strip of stores. They were all artsy types that were looking for a cheap show and something with obscurity to hold over their friends' heads or genuine grunge fans clad in ripped jeans and baggy shirts, their faces screwed up in scowls or engaging in pleasant conversation with their cohorts. Everybody was one half of a pair, everybody had a place, but Toki was teetering on the edge of the sidewalk with nobody at his side. When he was out normally, at a show or whatever, the barrage of feelings didn't hit him like this. Usually he felt fine, the sadness overtaking him when he got home, instead of enveloping him in public. Usually. Normally. Not today. Today, he was inexplicably lonely for reasons he could not explain.

Behind Toki Nathan and Pickles were arguing again, once more over glam rock, Pickles saying repeatedly that there was more music than just metal and Nathan was an ignoramus. He was speaking fast and his voice escalated in accented shrillness, so the word "ignoramus" made Nathan laugh hard; the fight was over. Toki wasn't looking but the awkward silence that replaced the bickering was palpable, tensions still high and joining the humidity in the air. It was still hot for October and Toki's hairline was sweating; he wiped at it. He wished he had a cell phone, or a wristwatch, or a fucking pocket watch, but he didn't. His pockets were empty. He spun around to Pickles and asked the time.

Pickles took his cell phone out to check; Toki tried not to furrow his brow. "'Bout twenty minutes to show time," Pickles said, eyes still on the screen and thumbs moving, presumably texting somebody. "Murderface says he's gonna be here in—hey, Murderface. And Dick."

Indeed, Murderface and Dick Knubbler had arrived side-by-side. They'd come from Toki's right, in the direction of the other set of stores, which sat on a corner. Murderface was wearing an ill-fitting leather jacket, looking ridiculous in the heat and for the venue, but Murderface was always looking ridiculous. He had his cell phone out and eyes in the direction of it, grunting at Pickles's greeting. Dick Knubbler had on an army jacket buttoned up to his neck and pink-tinted sunglasses; his hair looked like it hadn't been washed for a week. He had a bottle of diet soda in his hand and did not say hello to Pickles until after he took an overly long drink, wiping his upper lip with the back of his hand when he was finished. "Hey," Dick said, drawing out the word in his whiny voice. His mouth opened wide when he talked; he had surprisingly nice teeth, probably artificially whitened.

Nathan walked away from the record bins and to Pickles's side, crossing his arms over his chest. Toki turned so that he was looking fully at Murderface and Knubbler and standing between Nathan and Knubbler but on the outskirts of the foursome. He smiled at the new arrivals, tilting his head. "Hey, guys!"

"Hey," Murderface said, sliding his phone into an inner pocket of his jacket and bothering to speak this time. He looked to his side, at the Patio Lobo sign. "Pretty schweet place, huh?" His jacket hadn't set right when he disrupted it, one side bunched up over his jeans, and he grabbed the front and flicked his hands in a greaser fashion to fix it as he spoke.

"I guess," Nathan said, gracing the conversation with his words as well. Pickles looked at Nathan like he was about to scold him but seemed to changed his mind at the last minute, switching to a smile and returning his attention to Dick and Murderface. He was fidgeting, his lips twitching lightly.

"Dick here'sch gonna get usch in for free, too," Murderface continued, as if he hadn't been talking about this all week. "He knowsch the owner."

"It's true, I do," Dick said. Toki could tell that Dick thought this made him seem impressive, though it really didn't. Apart from being Murderface's only other friend, Dick Knubbler was a source of gossip for Nathan and Pickles. Toki had only met the guy a few time, since he and Murderface tended to hang out independently from the group, like Nathan, Pickles, Charles and Abigail—again, something the others had that Toki didn't unless he counted Rockzo, which he did not—but Toki felt like he had the guy's whole life story. It wasn't that Nathan and Pickles actively disliked Dick; it was that he was, well, a spectacularly weird person. He had dropped out of high school in the tenth grade after setting his lab partner's hair on fire, which was officially an accident but suspicious nonetheless. His parents had kicked him out and he spent a couple of years selling drugs, which is how he met Murderface, and he remained their number one supplier. He had mostly moved on from the drugs now and was trying to become a music producer. He was about eighteen and lived in some scummy apartment downtown with another guy, John Twinkletits, who was creepy in a whole different way. Toki had only met Dick's roommate once, at one of the few parties he'd ever attended, and was glad that that was the extent of his time spent with John Twinkletits. As far as Dick went, Toki liked him well enough. He didn't really know him, but he felt fondly towards anybody who could get him into a show for free.

"Do you know anything about these guys?" That was Pickles, determined to keep the conversation going. He had stopped drumming his thighs and had his arms at his sides. Murderface produced a bag of chocolate-coated candy from somewhere and popped them in his mouth as if they were pills; Dick was still working on that diet soda. He extended a hand towards Murderface without looking and Murderface begrudgingly shook some candy from the bag onto his open hand. Knubbler chased his soda with the handful of candy, smiling just the slightest bit.

"Hmm? Yeah, yeah," He said, after he'd swallowed. He exaggerated his vowels a lot when he talked and it distracted Toki, taking him out of what Dick was saying. "They're a quaint little band from about a town over. Lead guitarist's supposed to be really good. They say he carries the band."

"Who says?" Nathan asked. He jerked his head to get a piece of hair out of his face and stared openly at the bag of candy Murderface had. Murderface sure as sin wasn't going to share his food with anybody else, not after getting mooched off by one person; pure pain sparkled in Nathan's eyes. Toki could tell Murderface was getting off on this, eating the candy with a giant, smug grin and elaborate movements.

"Just—they, I don't know," Dick said. He drank some more soda. "How's school?"

"It sucks," Nathan and Pickles said simultaneously. Pickles did the thing like he wanted to look at Nathan again, his lips jerking. "You're so fucking smart for getting out," Nathan continued. He didn't say it like a compliment, more of a general statement.

"School is just so oppressive," Dick said. He bent down and placed the bottle of soda, now half-drank, by his foot on the ground. When he bent back up he straightened out his jacket and flicked his head back in a similar fashion to how Nathan had done it previously, like a horse trying to get rid of a fly. He combed through his hair with his fingers, getting the part back in order.  
"Sure," Nathan said. He still had his arms crossed, one leg sticking out, his figure hulking above them all. "I just thought, you know. That it fuckin' sucks."

"I think it'sch gay," Murderface announced through a mouthful of chewed candy. Toki wrinkled his nose in disgust automatically; he had the same problem with talking with his mouth full and it bothered him when other people did it particularly. Murderface of course had no such shame, smacking his food and talking with his mouth wide open.

"I know you do, hon," Dick said, placing a hand on Murderface's shoulder. Dick was the type of person who always called other people hon and placed his hand on their shoulder,no matter what their relationship was. Murderface grunted and swatted Dick's hand away. Dick, unaffected, swung his arm down to his side. He retrieved his bottle of soda and sipped from it.

"What've you been up to, Dick?" Pickles said, making an attempt to draw the conversation back into something feasible. He was still smoking, trying to blow the smoke away from the group, but the wind was blowing in their direction. Toki felt his efforts to be futile; he'd inhaled so much first and secondhand smoke in his lifetime that twenty minutes of Pickles chain-smoking couldn't make the slightest of a difference, and he figured the others to be in similar positions. "Workin' with any bands?"

Dick shook his head. "The scene's kind of dead right now," he said. "That's why I'm here, to see if these guys are any good, you know? Maybe they're looking for a producer. Like I said, I hear great things about their lead guitarist."

"That's pretty cool," Pickles said. He stood on his tiptoes to look over Dick's shoulder, at the crowd of people. "There's a good amount of people here, yeah."

Dick made a noise of agreement.

The crowd swelled throughout the remainder of the twenty minutes. Murderface and Dick walked over to the records, which were new and exciting to them and old news to Toki, Pickles, and Nathan. Nathan sulked to himself, moving into the shadows against the wall of the record store, and Pickles joined Dick and Murderface regardless, offering snobbish opinions that tended to contrast Dick's own snobbish opinions. Murderface chewed his candy noisily and happily until the entire bag had vanished into his cavernous mouth, and then tried to join Pickles's and Dick's conversation, offering uniformed thoughts on various bands. Toki watched as more people flocked around Patio Lobo; it looked like they'd fill the place pretty well, if not to the brim. He wondered if he could get a mosh pit going. The crowd looked adequate, nubile physiques in scant clothing that had the room to move a body in, and he was in the sort of mood that made for good moshing. The more he thought about it the more he really wanted to get a mosh pit going, the urge itching beneath his limbs.

After a while the meshed door swung open and a bouncer appeared, shuffling people in. Dick gave their tickets and the guy nodded at him; they were some of the first people inside. Toki could tell that Dick thought that made him hot shit. He puffed his chest up and was talking loud and boisterous about nothing in particular in the direction of no one in particular. Pickles was humoring him with half-hearted responses, Murderface with grunts. Nathan and Toki were silent, though Toki was busy taking the place in, while Nathan was most likely still sulking.

Patio Lobo was set up with a stage at one end and a bar with tables shoved in a cramped amount of space towards the other, a bunch of room for standing and hopefully moshing in between. The décor was done in browns, peeling posters plastered to the walls, and there were an abundant amount of lighting fixtures embedded in the ceiling. On the stage was the band's equipment, all of the instruments black, surrounded by cheap amps piled on top of each other. One instrument certainly stood out above the others: a shining black-and-white guitar towards Toki's right, set apart from the rest. Their logo was painted over the drums, a sloppy job, the A of Academy an anarchy symbol with a half-open circle. The stage was pretty well-lit but nobody was on it, the band presumably behind the curtains. The tables towards the back were round and wooden and a bartender, a young man with a stud earring in one ear and a close-cut hairstyle, was cleaning a glass, looking bored by it all. As Toki expected, he was not impressed with the interior, but he was not particularly disappointed. Patio Lobo had a good vibe and lot of potential for an enjoyable night and Toki was beginning to get pumped up, eager for a mosh pit and noisy music fogging his mind. His previous frustrations dissipated and he was looking forward to losing himself and walking out half-deaf, yelling cheerfully throughout the event. The excitement he'd been feeling all week was teeming, spilling over, and he could hardly stomach the wait.

Toki and the rest walked towards the front of the stage, a few feet back. People closed in around them. Toki felt sort of buzzed, as the atmosphere of Patio Lobo felt sort of buzzed. It was good; everything was good; everything was going to be good. There was only a few minutes gap between the crowd and the band appearing on stage, all walking in at around the same time but not in a particularly coordinated fashion.

The drummer took his seat and Toki could feel Pickles, a true percussionist, stiffening as he judged him. The drummer was a tall guy with frizzy blond hair tied back in a ponytail; he was shirtless and had angel wings tattooed across his chest, writing Toki couldn't read in between them. He looked in his late teens, early twenties at most, and had the generally glazed look of a guy who did a lot of weed. Pickles murmured something to Nathan, definitely a ruling on the drummer, and Nathan chuckled in a low, rumbling way. One guy, completely average in every aspect except for his hugely gauged and plugged ears, went over to the guitar to Toki's left and slung the strap around his neck. Judging by the state of the guitar, Toki guessed that he wasn't the lead; the guy fumbled with the instrument just a little as he was putting it on, like he was new to it. Another guy, short with dark hair and wearing a shirt with an elaborate depiction of the inner anatomy of a human being's torso across the front, took the bass from the side and approached the microphone. He was a little sweaty already and smiling a little. His eyes were wide and gave him an earnest, enthusiastic look, but Toki could tell he was nervous.

"A basschist who'sch alchso a vocalischt?" Murderface said, overly loud; the guy heard him and gave him a look.

"Well, it's not unheard of," Dick said, more to Murderface than to anybody else.

Toki barely heard what Dick was saying despite the fact he was standing right next to him, as Toki's attention was drawn to the lead guitarist. He appeared to be the youngest in the band, judging by his lithe, youthful frame and absolutely angelic face, the type of guy Toki was jealous of for aesthetics alone. He had come onto the stage just the shortest amount of time after everybody else and looked far more calm, definitely more comfortable, as he strode to his designated position. Even from where Toki was standing he could tell that he had good hands for the guitar: long and lean fingers, veins strengthened and visible from years of playing, and he slung the strap of his instrument over his head with ease. Naturally, he had picked up the gleaming black-and-white guitar to Toki's right, and he looked so natural that Toki knew his mind was going to be blown before the guy played a single note. Unlike the rest of the band, who were dressed in blacks and grays and in the case of their drummer, green cargo pants, this guy was decked in all white: tight white jeans and an oversized, holey white shirt, the front of it tucked into his jeans so he could display his belt buckle: the flag of Sweden. He was truly a marvel, such an astonishing sight that Toki's mouth went dry and his palms began to sweat, his heart thumping loud and hard inside of his chest.

"Goddamn," Dick said, and they all knew he was talking about the lead guitarist.

The bassist-slash-vocalist tapped the microphone with his fingers a few times; the noise resonated throughout the club. He leaned his head down. "Hey," he said. He had a normal voice, not one that sounded like it would make for unique vocals. Sometimes that could be a good sign, though, Toki supposed, and he wasn't about to make assumptions before the band even began playing. "You guys excited?"

The crowd cheered back, shouts and hollers filling the air; a few people whistled, Dick one of them.

The bassist smiled a little and did something with his hands, like he wasn't sure what to actually do with them. "Well, I'm Mark Skively, that's George Desford—" he gestured back to the rhythm guitarist, and then to the drummer—"Ritchie Ledbury—" and lastly the lead guitarist—"and Skwisgaar Skwigelf. We're Fuckface Academy, so prepared to have your face fucked," he said, and he laughed a little, but the sound was obscured by the whooping of the crowd.

Of course, the bassist wasn't done talking. "So the first song we're gonna play is something we literally just cooked up, like, three hours ago," he said, smiling. He had a toothy grin and pronounced canines. "It's called, uh, it's called Trichodesmium Flatwoods, and we have no fuckin' idea what that means." He waited for the crowd to die down before saying, "So this is our never-before-heard, exclusive song, just for you guys," and beginning to play. Toki had hardly noticed that he was cheering until he was one of the last ones, and then he stopped, his face reddening.

Trichodesmium Flatwoods—Toki had no fuckin' idea what that meant, either—began with a low bass surging in, then picked up with the drums, then the rhythm guitar laying down a simple riff. The build-up until the lead guitar and the vocals came in lasted maybe twenty seconds, all of the music clashing together in dissonance, nothing truly fitting together; the individual instruments sounded like they were playing parts of different songs, or solos at the same time. For twenty seconds Toki hated the band, as Toki hated music that was just noise without a purpose, but then the lead guitar came in on a grinding, preposterously fast and outrageously complicated line of sound, trailed by the vocals. Toki's eyes were fixated to the lead guitar's hands—he was playing with a pick, faster than Toki had ever seen, the whiteness of his skin blurring. It sounded like he was improvising, just merely practicing against the backdrop of whatever the fuck his band was doing, and it was beautiful, it was just so beautiful. The lyrics to the song—the bassist-slash-vocalist did indeed have an average range, one that could be enhanced by vocals and the music but was really not—were simple, rather insipid: we spit on the face of life, we dance on the grave of death, stuck in between, we are undefined, repeated three times in a row.

Dick swore under his breath, a steady stream of cock shit damn fuck, over and over, but Toki could barely hear him. All he could hear was the lead guitar. The song raged on rather repetitively for about a minute but then the bassist-slash-vocalist backed off from the mic, the rhythm stopped altogether, and the drums slowed. The lead guitarist stepped up towards the front of the stage and began to play a solo, a screeching stream of orgasmic guitar for forty-five seconds. He remained composed throughout the whole thing, his body curved in towards the guitar and face cast down on his hands, which is where Toki's gaze was at anyway. When he backed off and the drums picked back up and the rhythm reentered and the bassist-slash-vocalist stepped up and howled out "Trichodesmium flatwoods, fuck yeah," in a surely mispronounced manner, Toki felt legitimately saddened.

At the end of their first song the drummer tossed his drumsticks up in the air and caught them before swinging them into a final clang against the syllables. The lead guitarist did nothing, the rhythm retreated back into himself, and the bassist-slash-vocalist flicked his hair—he had fringe that extended past his right eye—and took the mic in his hands again. "You guys like that?" The crowd cheered back—what else would a crowd do?—and the guy smiled his canine smile. He had an easily readable face, emotions there for all to see, and Toki could tell that he was happy, that he was in the zone. "All right, the next one is called Ex-Knife, and it's about this chick I used to fuck in high school."

Toki couldn't lie—the band sucked. The vocals and the rhythm guitar were barely above average, the bass was dreadful, and the drums were okay. The drummer and the front man had enthusiasm, really put their heart into it, and were both sweaty at the end of song three—which was their classic "Fuck Love, Let's Fuck"—but the rhythm was listless and barely moved at all, just stood there biting his bottom lip and playing the guitar. The lead guitarist didn't move that much either, but he didn't have to, just standing there and playing was impressive enough. In a band there was always one guy with more spirit than the rest, who danced and twisted around almost a little too much, and that was definitely the front man, wailing as he played the bass. Toki got a mosh pit going by the fourth song—their other classic, "Bite Me Baby"—and was feeling really fucking good. Nathan was motionless but Pickles was into it, cheering at the appropriate times and rocking in place to the beat of the drums. Dick stared in open-mouthed amazement at the lead guitarist, ogling him like a piece of meat, and Murderface was looking around the room, bored. Toki moshed throughout most of their set, except for when the bassist-slash-vocalist was talking—and that guy sure was a talker, asking for audience feedback and making lame jokes between every song—and Toki's plain white shirt was practically translucent with sweat, his shorts falling off of his hips, his feet aching. But he was feeling really, really fucking good.

There was a small interlude as the band members wiped themselves off and fixed their amps, which had been experiencing problems around the seventh song ("Addled Intercourse") and Toki elbowed his way through the crowd to get back to his friends. His hair was plastered to his forehead and he was panting but he was feeling drunk, wishing he was. Dick went off to get them drinks, which really just meant bottles of water, and Toki couldn't stop smiling. He approached Pickles, butting in between a quiet conversation between Pickles and Nathan.

"Holy shit," was all Toki said, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.

Pickles smiled at Toki in a way that looked like he should be tilting his head downwards, though he had to tilt it up since he was shorter than Toki and all. "You like them?" He asked, in a demeaning way.

"Fuck no," Toki said, laughing. "They suck! It's just a good show."

Nathan, who had been standing by Pickles's side with his arms crossed over his chest, mumbled something incoherent to the three-quarters-deaf Toki but apparently decipherable by Pickles, who shoved at him.

"How's the moshing?" Pickles asked, yelling over the randy hum of the crowd. Pickles wasn't one for moshing; he had a slight stature and bruised easily, wasn't aggressive enough to really get into the groove of things. He hung back at shows, enjoyed the music and not the crowd like Toki did.

"Awesome!" Toki shouted. He didn't mean to say it at the top of his voice, but he couldn't hear himself if he didn't.

Murderface, who had been doing something with his phone, looked up. "Eh? Aweschome?" Murderface wasn't one for moshing either; he had the opposite problem of Pickles, possessing too large of a build, and the physical exertion wore him out too easily. If Murderface liked a band he would get into the music, but if he didn't he would spend the whole time on his phone, looking around, wandering off, and just being rude. "How the pissch could anything at thisch schitty schow be aweschome?"

"You're the one who fucking insisted on us coming," Nathan said, glaring at Murderface. "It's your fault this band sucks."

"The lead guitar's pretty good, though," Pickles mused, tapping his chin. "Best I've heard in a long time, actually."

"Yeah," Toki said. He wheezed, his chest hurting, coming down from the high, but he could hear the band repositioning themselves behind him and could see Dick approaching with their drinks. The crowd was closing in around them, getting restless in the break in the music, which was admittedly too long. Toki was starting to feel suffocated by the other people and restless himself; he wanted the band to resume playing so he could resume moshing and shake away the claustrophobia.

"Whatever," Murderface mumbled. He put his phone away and accepted a bottle of water from Dick, chugging it.

Toki took his own water and drank half of it before handing it back to Dick and walking over to where the mosh pit was reforming. The band was gearing up to play again, the bassist-slash-vocalist positively radiating with fervor, the drummer doing tricks with his sticks, the rhythm brooding off by himself, and the lead guitarist standing coolly. Though there wasn't a spotlight, the attention was definitely on the lead guitar. Toki was struck by the urge to make eye contact and smile at him but decided against it, instead beginning to grind to the beat of the drums as they hammered out the intro their next song, "Illegal, Trusty, Damn."

The band played a total of fifteen songs averaging two and a half minutes each with some downtime in between that they spent bullshitting with the audience, generally having a good time. The show lasted about an hour and a half, ending at nine o'clock at night, and Toki was feeling light by the time it was over, his head in a different place than his body, felt as if he was floating as opposed to walking. Half the crowd filed out when the band said goodnight and began to disassemble their set. The other half stayed and gravitated towards the back, towards the tables and the drinks, and that's where Toki and the rest of his group went. Dick got them a table and they got a round of drinks with their fake I.D.'s, except for Nathan, who drank from a Coke with a sour expression. He was their designated driver, of course, and despite the fact that he'd get doubly drunk at home, he was still sore over the fact.

"What a show," Pickles said, swirling his whiskey around in his cup. "What a band." He laughed at the last part and the rest of the group joined in.

"They fuckin' schucked, Dick!" Murderface spat, pushing his hands on the edge of the table and rotating to say this in Dick's direction. Murderface scowled when everybody else howled, their laughter from what Pickles had said only escalating.

"Yeah, but the lead guitar," Dick said, whistling. "Holy Christ. If I could get my hands on that."

Toki looked over his shoulder, his hands wrapped around some fruity concoction that was actually pretty tasty, at the stage. The bassist-slash-vocalist was not on it, but in the area in front of it, talking with a gaggle of girls who clearly wanted his dick. The rhythm was doing most of the work, the drummer and the lead guitar having a conversation towards the back of the stage, though the lead guitarist didn't seem that involved in what the drummer was saying. The lead guitarist kept looking off to the side and his body was in a different direction than the drummer; he didn't even give him the pleasure of making eye contact. "Yeah," Toki said softly enough that he wasn't heard over the sound of high spirits. "Their lead guitar."

They drank through a few rounds, Toki not drinking as much as the others, killing time before they had to go home. Nathan's curfew was not officially set any actual time, though his parents preferred him home by the time the sun was up, and that was extended to the rest of them by default (except for Dick, who had no curfew.) Toki wanted to smoke and thus restrained from getting too drunk, just enough to add onto how fucking good he'd been feeling all night, and he was still feeling pretty fucking good. He laughed at practically everything people were saying—he was a giggly drunk—long and loud, resulting in snorting fits that dissolved into hiccupping and thumping his fists on the table. Dick had his chest puffed up again and kept talking about how this show was his idea and he got them in for free and everybody should be sucking his cock and worshipping at his feet; Murderface was whacking Dick on the back and agreeing with every word that came out of his mouth. Pickles spent more time trying to lighten Nathan up, who was in an utterly foul mood. "Your face is gonna get stuck that way," Pickles said, pushing the words through his snickers, since Nathan's face was stuck in such a heavy scowl that he looked practically cartoonish.

When the band had all of their equipment broken down and stored away they walked over to the tables and were hailed as celebrities, girls hanging off of them and guys trying to chat them up. The rhythm guitarist was getting flagged by chicks—Toki had no idea why, for there was truly nothing special about the guy—and the bassist seemed to have already picked out a few girls, entertaining them at a table. The drummer found a horde of guys that all looked like him and were talking to them at a table towards the back. The lead guitarist had shot straight for the bar and ordered something that looked like pure alcohol and began to wander around, sipping at his clear drink. Dick flagged him down, and to Toki's surprise the guy—Skwisgaar Skwigelf, Toki remembered—pulled a chair up, rotated it around, and sat on it, overlapping his arms on the edge of the chair and straddling the back with his skinny thighs. He sat directly across from Toki.

"Ja?" He said. His voice dripped with an accent and he spoke in a lazy, drawling style. "What's you wants?" His English was absolutely terrible, and in their uninhibited state, Toki's friends exchanged befuddled glances. They hadn't heard him speak on stage, and his vernacular came as sort of a shock. Toki was too busy trying not to stare, instead directing his gaze towards the table, wondering if he was sitting at pressboard or real wood. He decided it was pressboard after a few seconds, and then he just stared at the patterns. He was intimidated, feeling small—Skwisgaar Skwigelf was the type of guy that had that effect on him, like Pickles but times infinity, where the feeling of wanting to be them would start to slip away and instead Toki would just feel, well, small.

"You were so fucking good," Dick said, slapping Skwisgaar Skwigelf on the back. Skwisgaar Skwigelf grimaced. Having already a slurred style of speaking, Dick sounded ridiculous when drunk off his ass. Toki had respect for Skwisgaar Skwigelf for staying. "I'm a producer. I could do good things for you and your band."

"It ams not my band," Skwisgaar Skwigelf said, almost reflexively, and he sounded bitter. "It ams Mark's, you ams havings to talks to him if you ams wantings to gets anywhere."

Dick screwed his face up as he tried to work out what Skwisgaar had said. When it hit him, he unscrewed his face and announced, "It should be your band. You're amazing."

The flattery made Skwisgaar smile. "Ja," he said. It wasn't a question; it was an agreement. Skwisgaar Skwigelf was amazing and Skwisgaar Skwigelf knew it. It was evident in the way he carried himself, haughtily with proper posture, in the way that he spoke at his own pace, and the way that he wore an amused expression constantly. This was what Toki had found out in the minute amount of time he had been acquainted with Skwisgaar Skwigelf, at least.

"Let me buy you some drinks," Dick said, waving his arm through the air in a wide, sweeping manner. A waitress that had appeared after the show was over came to their table, and she looked like a waitress who had to deal with nothing but drunken men during her shift, like she wanted to break a beer bottle over her head and drink the shards. "Stay, talk."

"Ja, okay," Skwisgaar said. He was indulging them; it was obvious, as if he had nothing better to be doing and might as well amuse himself. Dick indeed bought Skwisgaar some more drinks, throwing garbled words at the waitress, and Skwisgaar stayed, and Toki was surprised by this indeed.

"So where're you from?" Dick asked when Skwisgaar was sucking down his second drink, straight vodka. He didn't seem drunk in the slightest; Toki gathered that he could hold his liquor pretty well. The conversation had splintered to something between just Dick and Skwisgaar, everybody else watching on in amazement. Toki had already deduced that Skwisgaar spoke with a Swedish accent and judging by the belt buckle was probably Swedish, but he wasn't about to leap into this conversation and he doubted that any of his friends knew what the flag of Sweden looked like, so he kept his mouth shut.

"Sweden," Skwisgaar said, and the pride in his voice was apparent. He shook his glass around a little before he drank from it, bobbing happily. "I comes here maybe seven months ago. I leaves Sweden, and I keeps buying plane tickets, and it boughts me here."

"That is fucking fascinating!" Dick said, and he thumped Skwisgaar on the back again; he didn't grimace this time. "That is a story you could really sell." He was speaking like he had experience in management and production, which he did not, unless half-assing his roommate's band counted. Toki supposed that it could, but not in the sense that Dick wanted it too.

"I subpose," Skwisgaar said. He did the thing where he shook from his glass before drinking from it again, and this time he tipped his head back, his Adam's apple exposed and dipping while he drank. Perhaps he was beginning to get a little bit tipsy, or maybe he acted like this all the time; Toki had no idea. He wanted to find out, though.

"How do you like it here?" Pickles chimed in at this point. He sounded hesitant but friendly enough that you couldn't reasonably pick up on it, swirling the whiskey in his glass around. Pickles had one hand under the table and one on his glass and he was sitting farther away from Nathan and closer to Toki than he normally did. Pickles was a friendly drunk and he was smiling brazenly, his lips threatening to split his face in two.

"It ams okays," Skwisgaar said. "It ams nothings in compariskon with Sweden, dough."

Toki couldn't help it; he was raised in Norway, and even though Norway held terrible memories, he loved his country, and Skwisgaar just looked so goddamn self-righteous as he spoke about Sweden, and so he proclaimed, "Norway is better!" After saying it, he fought the urge to clamp his hands over his mouth and dissolve into the floor.

Skwisgaar looked directly at Toki—the eye contact was making Toki quiver and now he was fighting the urge to yelp and dive beneath the table—and raised a single eyebrow. "Reallys?" He asked, smirking.

The demeaning attitude was beginning to wear thin on Toki, intimidation and awe replaced with a sense of annoyance. "Really," he responded, glaring and hissing the word between his teeth.

"What ams so great about Norways?" Skwisgaar asked, staring at Toki in a blatantly challenging manner, one eyebrow raised.

"Everything," Toki said, staring back just as equally hard. The rest of the table had gone silent, watching their back-and-forth, though the din of the club was hanging behind their heads as background music. Toki was losing the sense of being small, growing inside, getting riled up again, but he was a little too intoxicated to justify how Norway might be better than Sweden. He grappled for an answer, his mouth flapping open and shit stupidly, and frustration coated his body as he finally let his forehead fall to the table. The pressboard hurt when he hit it. He felt ultimately stupid for more reasons than just being unable to defend Norway.

"Well," Skwisgaar said, drawing out his words. Toki could hear the thick smugness in his voice, thick as smog, and Toki's cheeks were hot pressed against that pressboard. "I cans assures you dat Norway is dildos." Toki raised his head just enough to watch Skwisgaar; Skwisgaar shot the rest of his vodka back after he said this, finally lowering that goddamn eyebrow. Dick immediately ordered him another drink, desperate for Skwisgaar to stay.

"Heh, dildos," Pickles said, chuckling. "That's a good one."

Skwisgaar somehow managed to lean back, basking in the glow of the admiration of the table, which was plain to see and tangible. Dick stared at Skwisgaar like he was a god incarnate, like he was his own personal savior. Murderface tried to look like he didn't give a fuck but he clearly did, sneaking glances at Skwisgaar when he thought the others weren't looking. Pickles, good-natured as always, behaved in his good-natured way, and even Nathan wasn't completely moody anymore. Toki couldn't see why—Skwisgaar was getting on his last nerve for inexplicable reasons. He couldn't really explain why, except that he didn't like guys that were full of themselves, or that dismissed others' thoughts so easily, or that thought they were the ultimate shit, even when they sort of were. He had to admit that Skwisgaar was pretty fucking cool. Fuck. He didn't know. Clearly, he was too intoxicated to be making proper judgments at this hour.

"Where'd you learn to play guitar like that?" Dick asked, trying to ease the conversation away from Toki and Skwisgaar, who were still locked in a staring contest. Toki had learned not to blink from his childhood; Skwisgaar seemed to have been born without the need to. The contest did give Toki and excuse to observe Skwisgaar more closely; he had very blue eyes and long, fine eyelashes, almost transparent but glittering, since he was a blond, his hair rolling down past his shoulders and towards his midsection. He was blond in a yellowish way, unlike the drummer who was blond in a brownish way, and Toki didn't know if Skwisgaar's hair was naturally that nice or if he cared for it particularly well. He wondered what it smelled like, and he thought that if he knew then he would find the answer to his question. Skwisgaar did look like the type of guy that took superb care of himself and his body; his skin was smooth and somehow the smoothness managed to accent his face, his high cheekbones, the cut of his jaw. What Toki had initially thought was confirmed during their little contest—Skwisgaar was an aesthetic spectacle and Toki had lost whether he wanted to be him or to just look at him along the way.

Skwisgaar shrugged and didn't break away from Toki's gaze. "I just did," he said. "I ams a natural." His eyes flashed as he spoke; Toki felt hot beneath his shirt, when he had been feeling sort of cold, the dampness of the material from his sweat catching up with his now motionless state.

"Fuck yeah, you are," Nathan said. "What? He was pretty good," he continued, after Pickles shot him an incredulous look.

"How hard could playing grunge be," Toki muttered, though he knew it was a stupid thing to say. He was looking off towards the side now, not wanting to look at Skwisgaar despite the fact that he really wanted to look at Skwisgaar, and he could hear his scoff in response to Toki's comment.

"As if you could does any betters," Skwisgaar said. Toki darted his eyes to get another look at him—he was doing the stupid eyebrow thing again and hadn't broken his share of the staring. At this point, Toki was too busy feeling idiotic over how stunned and impressed he'd been with Skwisgaar at first, when he was just a figure on stage without a personality. Off stage he was an asshole, and Toki shouldn't have been so impressed with an asshole. He didn't like assholes; assholes were, well, assholes. He tried not to associate with them and the problem was that apart from how much Skwisgaar was irritating him at the moment, he had a nagging fear that Skwisgaar would realize how lame they were—Toki's lameness spoke for itself, Pickles was okay, Nathan had a sort of pathetic life, so did Murderface, and Dick's life was really pathetic—and leave, never to be seen again. Toki didn't want that, he wanted Skwisgaar to remain at their table, and he wanted to look at Skwisgaar and talk to him forever, and he couldn't explain that, so instead he averted his eyes and glared at the table.

"Boys," Dick said and he cleared his throat, like the rest of the table were children and he was this amazing adult, although nobody knew how old Skwisgaar was, "be civil, now."

Skwisgaar paused in his actions for a second, like he was considering Dick's words. "Okays," he said, after some thought. "Ams you from Norway?" He asked, still looking exclusively at Toki. Toki dared to reestablish eye contact, and he was afraid that if he kept it for too long he would literally combust.

"Yes," Toki said, though his response was clipped, terse. His jaw was tight and his hands were sweaty and he was aware of how loud the rest of the club was; people were carrying on conversations gleefully around them, like Toki's world wasn't about to collapse into itself, and inwardly he was blaming this on how drunk he was. The place still had good vibes and this added to his intoxication.

"You speaks pretty good Enklish," Skwisgaar said conversationally. He had placed a single elbow on the chair edge and rested his hand in it, taking little drinks from his vodka. His lips curled in an odd way when he spoke, exposing his teeth, which were nice like Dick's but not in an artificially whitened way. Unlike his personality, as far as appearance went, Skwisgaar could do no wrong.

Toki shrugged. He was beginning to feel placated by Skwisgaar's presence and that had the opposite effect of making him feel not at ease in Skwisgaar's presence and he didn't know what the fuck was going on with his feelings so he tried to shove his way through them and have a normal conversation. "I moved here when I was ten. I had a lot of time to learn. Not like you, apparently."

Skwisgaar shrugged. "I talks it good enough to understands, ja? There ams no need to wastes my time." The tone of his voice had changed; it was lazy again, but not in a bad way, and all aggression— or maybe that wasn't the right word for it, but Toki couldn't come up with a better one — had evaporated from it. He was looking only at Toki, not even responding to Dick's attempts at speaking, and Toki couldn't explain why that was making him mad. He was still working on just saying fuck-all to these pesky emotions; he would deal with them later.

"I like languages," Toki said. He said it with caution; he was still uncertain of Skwisgaar in general, and the things he was making him feel, and he wasn't having much luck with the repression ideal. He opened his mouth to elaborate on his statement—he liked languages because he couldn't speak at home, because he was fascinated with the ways other spoke, because expression through words was just another thing other people had that he didn't, and he had had ample time to learn English because he didn't have anything else to do in his free time—but he realized that maybe that wasn't something you said to people you just met, so he shut it again.

"Dat's nice," Skwisgaar said, and maybe it had the slightest bit of a condescending tone, but that put Toki at ease more than the conversational one had. He fought the urge to sigh in relief and listened to the rest of what Skwisgaar had to say. "I likes guitar."

Toki snorted. "Dat's obvious," he said, and he reddened a little when he realized that he had adopted Skwisgaar's pronunciation of his t's. He blamed it on the fact that Swedish and Norwegian accents were similar, and he had struggled with his own t's when he had first started learning English. Luckily, it was subtle enough that nobody else had noticed, and being red-faced was just a side-effect of being intoxicated. He doubted anybody else would've cared if they weren't wrapped up in their own conversations—Dick and Murderface were speaking with their foreheads almost together and Pickles had spun on his chair to face Nathan—but Toki cared.

"Ams it?" Skwisgaar said, and he smiled. It was a genuine smile, not a condescending one, and Toki returned it without meaning to.

"Well, you're so good at it," Toki said, and he had to translate the words to Norwegian and back again before he could say them, which was something that did not happen often. He blamed Skwisgaar and his butchering of the English language for making Toki forget how to properly speak. "You wouldn't be that good if you hated it."

"Dat's true," Skwisgaar said. He curved his upper body around; Toki heard his back stretch. Toki wondered if standing on stage like that would cause soreness, wondered how Skwisgaar remedied it. He was about to ask, but Skwisgaar wasn't finished speaking, and Skwisgaar didn't seem like the type of person you would willingly interrupt. "Why does you comes to dis show?"

"Well," Toki said, and he had to think back to remember why he had actually come to this show, because now he wanted to say to witness your godly guitar skills and that wasn't the right answer, "Dick got us in for free." He gestured to Dick; he wasn't sure if he and Skwisgaar had exchanged formal introductions yet.

"Did you likes it?" Skwisgaar quirked his eyebrow again. Toki wished he would stop doing that.

"Um," Toki said. He racked his brain for an appropriate response that would not be too offensive or too flattering and came up short.

Skwisgaar laughed, and it was a pleasant sound, though a little awkward. He sounded like he didn't laugh often, or at all, the sound of his laughter rusty and his mouth unaccustomed to the motions. Toki found it sort of endearing, wanted to make him laugh more so he could iron out all the kinks in it and perfect it, because there shouldn't be anything about Skwisgaar that wasn't perfect. "Dis band sucks," Skwisgaar said when he stopped laughing. "But we ams playingks another show, next Saturday, at a festivitivals, in dis area. You shoulds comes." Toki registered with some embarrassment that Skwisgaar had not stopped holding eye contact with him, was speaking to him, was inviting him, and not the rest.

Toki opened his mouth to answer Skwisgaar, but Dick found the gap in conversation as an opportunity to leap in. "We would love to come!" He exclaimed, clapping Murderface and Skwisgaar on the shoulders both at once. "And you should really think about my offer."

"I will talks to Mark about it," Skwisgaar said, and then he stood up and stretched. Toki gaped at him while he did so; Skwisgaar was thin, in an appealing way, his limbs lean. Skwisgaar closed his eyes while he stretched, reaching his arms up over his head, and he was quite tall, taller than Nathan even. When he came down Toki averted his eyes before Skwisgaar could open his own and catch Toki staring, because Toki had the feeling that Skwisgaar would look at him in a way like he knew something, and that would make Toki feel uncomfortable. Skwisgaar straightened out his clothes, tucking his shirt behind his belt buckle and readjusting it, and then he spun the chair around so it fit snugly against the table in the proper manner. "Well, I ams goingks to finds a slut to fucks," he said, and this was met with a chorus of approving hoots around the table, though Toki remained quiet. His silence went unnoticed in the congratulatory, approving uproar. Toki could not explain why this made incredibly angry feelings rise in him, but it did, and it was scary, and he had no idea how he was going to deal about anything in the moment.

Skwisgaar walked away, towards the group of girls Mark had already picked out, and Toki watched him go with narrow eyes. Skwisgaar would have absolutely no problem finding a slut to fuck; Toki doubted there was a girl in the bar who didn't want him. Toki was feeling jealous, but he wasn't quite sure of what or who he was jealous of, and he was too drunk to figure it out but not drunk enough that he would forget it. He didn't want to get any drunker; he wanted to get high, he decided.

"What a guy," Dick said, sighing. He fiddled with his sunglasses, setting them right on his nose. He was leaning back and almost fanning himself, overwhelmed by how impressed he was by Skwisgaar. "What a guy."

"Let's get out of here," Toki said, standing up. Skwisgaar had taken a seat at the other table and Toki did not want to watch him woo a woman or whatever. "I want to get high," he said, for needless explanation afterwards.

"Fine by me," Nathan grunted, and they were off. Dick paid for everybody and Toki thought the tab had to be high, but they didn't say anything. They stumbled out of the club, the walk from the table to the door feeling twice as long as it did coming in, and Dick winked at the bouncer on the way out.

They drove Dick home; though he had taken his car and parked downtown, he lived close enough that he could walk and retrieve it in the morning. Dick lived in the shittiest of the shitty apartments, on the seventh floor. Toki had only been there once, at the party where he met John Twinkletits, and he wouldn't mind if he never went inside again. Dick walked straight into the entrance like he was tackling a red carpet entrance, but he tripped over his feet when he was a few inches away from the door and Murderface burst into uproarious laughter. Murderface's ludicrous laugh was contagious and Toki returned to that feeling of feeling really fucking good as they drove home. Nathan lived in the middle of town, about fifteen minutes from Dick's apartments, and being near ten o'clock on Saturday night traffic was thick. The atmosphere in the car was jovial, affecting even the temperamental Nathan, and he didn't suffer as badly from road rage as he would've if they hadn't just attended a fucking awesome show by a fucking terrible band and met a pretty cool guy.

Nathan pulled in front of his house, parking his truck behind his mother's soccer mom SUV, and they spilled out of the doors. Pickles fell, landing in the dirt between sidewalk and road, and Nathan clutched at his stomach, shaking with how hilarious this was, before proffering a hand to help Pickles up. Murderface called them fags but that didn't mean anything so they all went into Nathan's house. His parents were sitting in the living room watching the news—some car crash on some bridge covered live—and Nathan said hello to them before Toki and the rest entered the kitchen. They were being brash, making a lot of noise without meaning, slamming cabinets and rifling for snacks. Toki found some taffy on the counter and chewed on that; Pickles stuck a frozen pizza in the oven; Murderface grabbed a container of frosting from the pantry; Nathan fished out leftovers from dinner, which had been homemade fried chicken, and bit off the skin from a leg. Pickles sat on the counter by the stove while he waited for his pizza to cook; Toki hopped up on the one on the other side of the stove. Nathan remained standing, propping the refrigerator open with his foot for easier access to food, and Murderface sat at the kitchen table, scooping vanilla icing out with a spoon.

They stayed in those positions while Pickles's pizza cooked and bullshitted about school, life, the car crash that was on the bridge, everybody on edge in a pleasant way from the show and the night. Nathan's parents went to bed shortly thereafter, walking through the kitchen to get to their room, and they shook their heads in a fond sort of way at the group of boys sprawled out over their kitchen. Toki's heart was bursting with the amount of which he felt like he belonged here, in a scene taken directly from somebody else's better life, and he thought that the only thing missing was just one more companion. Nathan and Pickles had each other, which left Toki and Murderface, but Murderface had Dick and Toki didn't want Murderface anyway. The hollow ache wasn't as strong as it had been in times past, and although he felt like he was missing something he still felt so amazing, so right, and so lost to these aforementioned feelings that he jumped when Pickles jumped down to retrieve his pizza from the oven

Toki had finished his taffy and had grabbed for a bag of corn chips, eating them without salsa. Murderface had made his way through half of the icing and pushed it off to the side, spoon still sticking out of the can. Pickles took his pizza out of the oven—it was one of the huge kinds meant to serve a whole family—and carried it with him as he started to walk towards the stairs. Nathan took a jar of salsa from the refrigerator and nodded to Toki as an indication to bring the chips up, and Toki did, and then they were on the stairs, everybody quiet in concentration so they wouldn't trip and spill their food.

Pickles placed the pizza on Nathan's computer desk and went immediately to his bedside table, where Nathan's stash of weed was. He rolled a blunt and took a hit immediately, sighing hard, then handed it down to Toki; Toki had taken his usual place under the windowsill. Everybody got the food they wanted and formed a square, Toki and Pickles under the windowsill and Murderface and Nathan across from them respectively. Nathan had retrieved a bottle of booze from his closet and was drinking straight from it; Murderface had gotten shitfaced at the club and was still reeling from that. Toki and Pickles smoked, passing the blunt back and forth, until Toki felt he was high enough. Pickles, who never seemed to reach that limit, never stopped smoking.

"Scho we're going nescht weekend, right?" Murderface asked, dipping a chip into the jar of salsa, loading the poor thing with as much as it could take. He got salsa all over his chin as he placed the chip inside of his mouth, and he stuck his tongue out to lick it all up.

"Fuck, I mean, do you guys want to?" This was Nathan. He was sitting Indian-style with the booze between his thighs, looking above Pickles and through the window at the night sky.

"If I don't got anything better to do," Pickles said, shrugging, at the same time Toki said, "Fuck yes." Toki's response garnered stares from his friends; he shrugged. "It was a good show," he said, as way of explanation. It had been—despite the shitty band, it had been a wonderful time, and Toki would like to experience it again. He jumped at any opportunity to get out of the house as well. Besides, he kind of wanted to see Skwisgaar again, and he felt like if he went to the festival Skwisgaar would talk to him.

"How about that Skwisgaar, huh?" Pickles said, and Toki startled, thinking Pickles had somehow read his mind. "What a guitar playin' douchebag," Pickles continued. He was sitting with his legs folded beneath him, following the conversation with his eyes.

"Fucking great guitar player," Nathan said. He turned his head down towards the liquor in his lap and picked it up, unscrewed the cap. "Fucking horrible person."

"I'd kill myschelf if I wasch hisch bandmate," Murderface said, nodding his head. "No queschtion. Juscht—" and he made a motion, drawing his finger across his neck, like he was slicing his own throat open.

"Never met such an arrogant douchebag in my life," Pickles said. "Dick was all over him, though. He's probably jackin' himself off to the memory of his riffs." The group chortled; Toki joined in, mostly because it was true. "Seriously though," Pickles said when the collective laughter had died down, eyes wide.

Murderface leaned over to get another chip; he was the only one still eating. "Dick lovesch guysch like that," he said. "He schayschs that they're alwaysch lookin' for a way to get bigger, so they're more open to producersch."

Pickles nodded up and down several times, his dreads bouncing against his shoulders. "I'm just sayin', he was a douchebag." He crossed his arms over his chest, the joint burning on the tray between Pickles and Toki, and made a noise in this throat indicating that that was his final conclusion.

"I'll drink to that," Nathan said, and he did.

Toki was silent throughout the discussion about Skwisgaar, which made Pickles look over at him, his pupils blown, poke in him the side and say, "He was speakin' only to you, wasn't he? Toki here must be lovesick, eh?" This was met with a chorus of laughter that Toki did not join in on He wouldn't contemplate something as absurd as that in his current state—he would wait to dissect what had occurred that night at a later date and try to enjoy himself in the present moment. He decided that he was not, in fact, high enough, and he snatched the blunt from Pickles's hand.

They fucked around in Nathan's room for a few hours, Nathan blasting his favorite music so he could "rewire their brains after that Fuckface Academy shit," Toki and Pickles attempting to play a game of Go Fish, and Murderface taking his pocketknife out of his jacket and turning the blade over in his hands, admiring it. Toki and Pickles eventually got sick of Go Fish and found a box that contained everything necessary for Checkers and then some in Nathan's closet, and they tried to play that for all of five minutes before they ended up trying to stack the pieces on top of each other in a black-and-red tower of plastic chips. Nathan's music, however, was sending hefty vibrations through the floor and their attempts were foiled, their tower tumbling down. They rolled over onto their backs and laughed, Pickles wheezing and Toki hiccupping, until Pickles somehow managed to fall asleep. By this time it was one in the morning and Murderface had already passed out, snoring and propped on his side with his back to the wall opposite Nathan's bed, his leather jacket laying over him like a blanket and his arms wrapped around his pocket knife like it was a teddy bear. Nathan stripped and put on a pair of gray pajamas before lumbering into his bed, where he passed out almost immediately. Toki stayed on his back, lying near the computer desk—Pickles had been on the opposite side of the checkers board and had curled into a ball in his sleep, in the corner between Nathan's bedside table and the wall.

Toki was the last one to fall asleep that night, lying on the floor of Nathan's bedroom and staring at the ceiling while listening to the rest of the room snore. He counted the cracks in the ceiling through the darkness of the room before his eyes began to droop and his body began to drift and he could not fight it anymore. He muttered to himself, "Dat's nice," in a fond voice of a fond memory, and fell asleep before he could realize what he had just said.


	4. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've received (rightful) criticism that this chapter is overly descriptive, which is something I struggle with in general. The reason for this is that last school year, at the time of this chapter's original publication, I was under a lot of stress from various things and struggling to get this chapter out, out of obligation. So I apologize henceforth for its quality.

Skwisgaar Skwigelf, that motherfucker, had invaded Toki's thoughts and would not leave. When Toki awoke on Sunday, drooling with his face pressed into the carpet despite how he'd fallen asleep on his back, the first thing to enter his mind was a flash of fine hair, a quick riff. In his sleepy state he tried to track the illusive thoughts down but he failed as they fled his mind when he rose from the floor. He attempted to identify the location of the pain flaming up inside his body but could not, deciding that his whole being hurt. It was not so much that he had a hangover (for he did not) but that he had exerted his body beyond its standard level last night in the mosh pit and chased that down with sleeping on the floor, whose plush carpeting deceived: the boards beneath were rough. Toki was the first one awake, his friends scattered around in the relatively same positions he had seen them in before he fell asleep the night before. The room smelled a little bit, like bad breath and body odor, and Toki scrunched up his nose, realizing with shame that a lot of the smell fumed off his own skin—he had not showered since moshing, after all.

He took his time lifting his body from the ground. He felt sticky all over and he wanted to take a shower, but he didn't like doing so at other people's houses. He would have to wait until Nathan, a notoriously heavy and long sleeper, roused before being able to go home, too. He settled for dragging his feet all the way to the upstairs bathroom and rinsing his face in the sink. Raising his head, he stared at himself in the mirror: the water had made his face red and his hair was a mess, tousled and knotted in the back where he'd slept on it. With the knowledge that combing it would only make it worse at this point he exited the bathroom. His clothes from last night, the cargo shorts and t-shirt, felt gross against his skin. He was not a hygiene enthusiast by any means but he had moshed his ass off last night and the aftermath was not attractive in the least.

He went downstairs and was not surprised to see that Nathan's parents had not woken up yet, either; it was only seven thirty in the morning, according to the digital clock on the stove in the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and retrieved a jug of milk, poured himself a glass after sniffing for freshness, and took a banana from the produce basket on the counter. He sat down at the kitchen table and peeled the banana, eating it before he drank his milk. The light in the kitchen was off but morning rays poured through the windows, creating a bluish effect. Toki stared at the table while he had his breakfast, wishing vaguely that he wasn't alone while he did so but not minding as much as usual. It was there at the Explosions' kitchen table that Skwisgaar came to mind a second time. With his mouth pressed to the rim of the glass of milk the memory of Skwisgaar's sneering face jumped out at him—that curl of the lips, the one eyebrow raised—Toki sputtered on his milk and set the glass down on the table. "What de fucks," he muttered, too distracted by the face in his mind, hanging just behind his eyes, that would not get out to acknowledge what he had just said.

He finished his breakfast and rinsed his glass in the sink before realizing that he had nothing to do. He didn't want to wake anybody in the house up, so he settled on watching television in the basement with the volume down low. He didn't get to watch television often and possessed next to no knowledge about the shows currently airing, so he spent most of the time channel surfing for something he liked. He eventually found a Lifetime movie to watch and curled up on the couch, hugging a pillow with the lower half of his face pressed into it, his knees bent up. The movie was about a woman who appeared to be in her early thirties that worked at a bakery and fell in love with a stock broker of a similar age. The guy always ordered two cinnamon rolls at the woman's bakery; that's how they met. The movie made a big deal about the revelation that the man didn't even like cinnamon rolls, but went to his deceased wife's grave every morning before work and ate breakfast "with" her, since her favorite food had been cinnamon rolls, and that he always left one atop her grave. Toki thought it was sort of lame, but he had to admit that he cried, tears rolling down his cheek as he sniffed along with the heroine. He felt sort of empty when it was over.

He had heard movement upstairs halfway through the movie but had been too engrossed to see who it was but now minus the movie, curiosity sparked inside of him. He shut the television off after the credits began to roll and peeled his body apart, feeling a little drained from the emotional toll the movie had wrecked on him; he was light and his limbs didn't quite work right. The dizzying remainders of Skwisgaar, settled and sleeping in his brain, did not help him in the least. He pulled himself up the basement stairs and into the hallway, where he found Murderface leaning against a wall with his phone out, baring his teeth at the screen.

Murderface snapped his phone shut and threw it into his pocket when he saw Toki, his eyes going wide. Murderface shook his head, blinked a couple time, smiled, and rubbed the palm of his hands against his legs. Toki looked at Murderface with his head tilted, but didn't speak about his strange behavior. Instead he said, "Hello, Moidaface." He gripped the railing of the stairs to the basement, almost as if to ground himself, get himself into the conversation.

"What'd you call me?" Murderface said, sounding gruffer than usual. He had lost the leather jacket from the night before and his hair had twisted itself around his head, but something in the way he was looking at Toki was genuinely frightening.

"Murderface," Toki said. He flicked his head, partly to get a piece of hair out of his face and partly out of confusion with Murderface.

"Okay," Murderface said. "I'm schure that'sch what I heard. Anyway. Nathan and Picklesch are schtill schleeping, damn them. I was juscht about to come down to the baschement. What were you doing down there, jackin' off?"

"Watching television," Toki said. They were still standing in the hallway; Murderface had stepped away from the wall a little bit. The encounter had a surreal feeling to it, like Toki wasn't fully in the conversation but instead watching it from far away with minimal control over what he said and did. The whole day had that sort of feeling, actually, and Toki was beginning to feel off. The laughter of another boy hung behind his ears and a certain face behind his own, there but not quite, everything blurred and blurring even harder when he tried to get a grasp on it. The weight in his chest, the obstruction in his mind, the sensations spreading through his body with his bloodstream—yes, he chalked it up to Skwisgaar Skwigelf. He could not stop thinking about him and he did not know why and this had created a blockade in his brain. He couldn't focus on the current moment, but was stuck in the past, in the future. He squeezed the knob on top of the stair railing heard.

"Anything good on?" Murderface asked, attempting to arrange himself into a casual position and failing. He fidgeted, stuck his hands in his pockets and pulled them out, shifted his weight around, and tried leaning on the wall at one point. Toki noticed Murderface's peculiar behavior, if that was what Murderface was looking for, but Toki couldn't bring himself to care; he had issues of his own at the moment. Like the way he was about to break the railing.

"No, not really," Toki said, with apprehension. He had no idea what he was saying. He was looking down the hallway, half expecting the rest of his friends to show up and take him home where he could do his chores and hinder his thought process and not feel so strange. But they did not, and Toki was left to somehow carry on this conversation, and he was doing about as good of a job at it as Murderface was at appearing casual.

"Well," Murderface said, "guessch I gotta go find schomething, then." He pushed past Toki and started lumbering down the stairs, considerably more loudly than Toki had done previously. Toki thought that perhaps he should follow Murderface and that that was what the situation warranted, but he couldn't make his body do that. He felt sleepy again, unable to concentrate on life and slow, so he made his way to the family room in the back of the house. The family room had another television and another couch in it, but it was the only television without nine-hundred channels and a recording device, so nobody ever came back here. The room was secluded, hidden behind a set of offices and a bathroom, so Toki could sneak a few more hours of sleep without interruption. Ceiling-to-floor south-facing windows pushed light into the room, but Toki didn't mind. He settled on the couch with a scratchy blanket; this room was the coldest in the house, even with the windows. He wrapped his arm around a small pillow and fell asleep, the ghost of a man perched in the corner of his brain, a face and a voice and a laugh dulled behind his senses.

In comparison to earlier in the morning, Toki woke up for the second time not by himself, but by a hand shaking his shoulder. Toki opened his eyes and rolled over to reveal Pickles holding a tray with a plate of French toast and a steaming coffee mug, wearing a smile. He ruffled Toki's hair and placed the tray on Toki's chest before sitting down on the floor beside the couch, the top of his head near Toki's torso. Toki, too tired to process everything, struggled to keep his eyes open as Pickles began to speak.

"Rough night last night, huh?" Pickles said. "Hand me a piece of French toast."

"I guess," Toki said as he passed a piece of French toast to Pickles. He picked a piece up for himself and began to chew; it wasn't homemade, just microwaved, but he loved it all the same. "Hva er klokka—I mean, um, what time is it?"

"It's about half past one. Nathan's still asleep," Pickles said through a mouthful of French toast, "and Murderface fell asleep too downstairs, we were watchin' some wrestlin' thing and he just starts snoring." Pickles paused, like he was thinking about saying some else, but then shook his head and continued talking. "I got bored. I'm sorry if I woke you up too bad." He twisted around and grinned at Toki, his eyes crinkling, genuine.

"No, no it's not a problem," Toki said. He swallowed his French toast and pushed the tray down his body. He sat up and moved backwards to rest his back against the arm of the couch, scratchy blanket and French toast tray resting in his lap. He drank some coffee and asked, "Really, Pickle, what'd you think of Fuckface Academy?"

"I thought they sucked," Pickles said, nodding. "But the lead guitarist was fantastic. A douchebag, yeah, but fantastic." He turned his head back around and reached his hand back for more French toast.

Toki closed his eyes. He had sought Pickles's opinion of Skwisgaar and was not surprised by the result. He fought to stifle a sigh, in addition to the memory of Skwisgaar looking at him in that stupid goddamn dick way Skwisgaar looked at him. "'Kay," he said as he plopped another piece of breakfast in Pickles's palm. He no longer felt like discussing Fuckface Academy and replaced words from his mouth with French toast on his tongue; Pickles did the same. When the French toast was gone Toki set the tray on the floor and swung his legs over the side of the couch to make room for Pickles. They shared the scratchy blanket and watched terrible reality shows—Pickles had a thing for trashy whores duking it out, his favorite being any variation on the Bad Girls Club—until Nathan materialized in the doorway, wordlessly beckoning them with his car keys.

Nathan dropped Murderface off first at his house in the redneck part of town, barely above a trailer surrounded by similar structures and a weedy, unkempt yard. Toki's house was next on the route and he left the truck much like he left the truck every time he hung out with his friends: with a heavy sadness nestled in his chest, threatening to colonize his entire being. He had his Sunday chores to look forward to and the show at the festival in conjunction Halloween, both the next weekend, but not much in between. He didn't bother changing his clothes today, just pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it into the laundry, before beginning his chores.

His muscles ached by the time he sat down for dinner; lifting his fork to his mouth took a concentrated amount of effort. He had fended off thoughts of Skwisgaar and Fuckface Academy and fun and everything good in the world with the mind-numbing physicality of the work, but in the silence at dinner he began to stew. The inability to focus from the morning came back full force. He attempted to drink the salad dressing and garnered looks from his parents and this bought him back some, but not fully. He swirled lettuce on his plate and thought about the concert, about the band, about sitting in a circle with his friends and Skwisgaar afterwards, about the way Skwisgaar had invited him to the festival, only him. It was a thing to boast about, being personally invited out by the great up-and-coming guitarist of the twenty-first century. If Skwisgaar never improved past the way he had played last night than he'd be one of the best guitarists to ever walk the earth; if he managed to somehow exceed the skill he demonstrated, he could easily be the best, hands down. For some reason Toki felt proud of this; he wanted to show Skwisgaar off. He had no reason to feel this way, since he wasn't actually in possession (in any sense of the word) of Skwisgaar, but sometimes Toki felt strange things like that.

Throughout the remainder of the day all he could think of was Skwisgaar. In the shower he mulled over their conversation, narrowing in on specific things Skwisgaar had said. The condescending way he said "ja" and the way it stood in contrast with his utterly deplorable English made Toki smile. The fact that he'd done something as—well, as fucking cool as just buying plane tickets and ending up in a stupid town in Florida stunned Toki. Not to mention that he was another born-and-raised Scandinavian and not some guy who claimed to be an eighth Norwegian on his mother's side; he was an actual brother to Toki's mother tongue. Toki recalled in the shower, his fingers in his hair (where'd they been for five minutes as he lost himself in thought), the way Skwisgaar had leaned forward when he invited Toki to the show, or leaned into the conversation in general. Skwisgaar had a way of filling the air with his presence; like Toki would literally inhale him and Skwisgaar would enter his bloodstream, travelling through his body with every beat of Toki's heart. It was suffocating, but in the most pleasant of ways, being somewhere with Skwisgaar. Toki was sort of hard by the time he exited the shower but he chose to ignore that. He toweled off in the steam of the bathroom and walked back to his room naked, feeling a little daring, a little buzzed.

Time chugged on in a completely normal fashion, mind-blowingly enough. Monday was effortless and boring and Toki found himself becoming gradually aware that his friends kept making the same jokes, that he kept doing roughly the same work in his classes, that everything felt the same. He felt flighty and off, his brain in another physical location than his body, his vision tinged by memories. He took up the habit of staring without seeing, eyes unfocused, as he gave great thought to Saturday, Skwisgaar, and his situation.

He mulled his situation over in Chemistry, nearly blowing Rockzo and him up when he added the wrong chemical to a mixture they'd been working on. He mulled it over in English, responding half a minute later after Murderface would speak to him while simultaneously failing to take notes on the differences between allegories and allusions. He mulled it over in 3D Art, fucking up the new sculpture they were supposed to be starting on five times. He mulled it over in Algebra II, staring at the back of Pickles's head as formulas slid through his ears. He mulled it over at lunch, staring into the depths of the cafeteria and ignoring the conversation at the table. He mulled it over in German, failing a test when he slipped into Norwegian halfway through. He mulled it over in World History, though he snapped into attention when the teacher started talking about Scandinavia, just for his thoughts to return to the weekend. He mulled it over in Home Ec and burned the brownies he was supposed to be making. He nearly fell down the stairs walking out, and then tripped up into Nathan's truck, his face slamming into the seat. His friends laughed their asses off, and Toki chuckled but faltered fast.

He'd felt this way before, only once, as a young boy in Norway. There had been a girl who attended his father's church, older and taller but petite for her age, with the most perfect set of blonde ringlets. She'd had a pretty mouth, naturally red bow shaped lips, and Toki would stare at her while she sang. He'd been nine, she fourteen, and he had been in love, mesmerized, transfixed by her presence. They had never spoken and the feelings had never escaped the boyish childhood crush—but now they had returned, in the presence of Skwisgaar, another boy. He recognized the flutter in his innards just from thinking about something the person said or did. He remembered a similar overanalysis of everything single move (but the goddamn eyebrow had to mean something.) He recalled the devastating desire to even be near the person again, coupled with an inane fear of fucking up. And this, this was what he surmised from his mulling.

Toki, of course, knew about the concept of homosexuality. He knew the sinful side well—his father, a wholly religious man, actively advocated against it. His father had never lectured him against it personally, but his father never lectured him against anything, so Toki was left to make up his own opinions since he certainly didn't buy the church's Adam and Eve traditional marriage man shall not lay with other man bullshit. Toki considered himself a generally open-minded person and tried to accept everybody the way they were, but he hadn't known a gay person until—until, well, now, if he was about to count himself. Which he wasn't. He didn't know; it didn't matter, since Skwisgaar was unlikely to return these affections, but all Toki could think about throughout the day was perhaps that he was, indeed, forming some sort of romantic feelings for Skwisgaar Skwigelf, another male. The idea consumed him, started in his chest and blossomed outwards, wrapped around him and bogged him down. He was slow in his Monday chores, receiving a whip across the back for the first time in a long time.

That night Toki lay in bed at the crisp time of eight o'clock, on his stomach, his back stinging from the recent lashing. Eyes drooping and shifting in and out of consciousness only to be jerked back from a pain in his back, he thought more of his situation. He could not hide nor repress himself; that would be a terrible way to go about living. He simply had to tell another person of his predicament, receive advice. He was afraid of going to the festival on Saturday and making a fool of himself, and he would also like to stop feeling this way about Skwisgaar. He figured out that it was not about him being gay, or wanting dick, or anything stupid like that—it was that Skwisgaar was probably not gay and did not want dick. Or maybe he was. Maybe he was a fuck-anything-that-moves type of person, not just a lecherous straight guy—and these thoughts were precisely why Toki needed to talk to somebody else. He was going a little insane, leaping from hey, what a cool guy to if only Florida would legalize gay marriage and maybe also marijuana, and this was just from two days of being locked up with his own thoughts.

Thus on Tuesday morning he tapped Pickle on the shoulder in Chemistry. Pickles turned around, eyes fully open and lacking redness (indicating that he didn't wake and bake that morning, which Toki was glad for) and titled his head. "What?" He asked, the flat whine of his voice almost causing Toki to wince. It was too early in the morning for that whiny Wisconsin grate.

"I need to speak with you," Toki said. He looked to his side; Rockzo had not yet appeared that morning, the class was half-full and Nathan was sleeping on his arms. "Soon," he added, "but not here."

"Okay," Pickles said, screwing up his face at Toki and drawing out the word. He turned back around and dropped his head to his own arms, joining Nathan. Toki watched Pickles's foot slowly move closer to Nathan's under the table until Rockzo filled the seat next to Toki with his obscene existence and his Tuesday officially began.

They were doing yet another lab today, Mr. Marshall being a fan of anything that got him out of teaching, one that required clean-up at the sinks. Rockzo was extremely messy and careless in his labs, leaving Toki to fix everything and clean up while Rockzo flitted away to talk to the girl with the periwinkle puffballs and her gaggle of similarly clownish friends. Nathan didn't do shit when they were in a lab either, just informed Pickles to "keep the crap away" from him and dropped his head back down to his arms. On any other day Toki would've been annoyed; today, he was thanking the gods. Toki and Pickles finished their data collection at roughly the same time and met up at the sinks, Pickles scrubbing the tray with a dreadlock in his face and eyebrows furrowed, Toki waiting behind him. Toki looked over Pickles's shoulder at the task he was doing to occupy his eyes, though his mind was elsewhere, as was the trend in the week.

"What was it that you needed to talk to me about?" Pickles asked. The materials they had been working with today were gooey and sticky and Pickles was really putting all of his weight into the scrubbing effort, his body heaving. He let out small grunts at particularly tough patches. Toki normally would've been shaking with laughter, but it wasn't a normal week.

"What's it called when you have more-than-friends feelings for other people?" Toki asked. His voice raised a few octaves in pitch and he looked away from Pickles, heart stammering, face growing hot. "Liking?" He hadn't actually forgotten the terminology, but he liked it when he could use his being foreign excuse to get out of or ease into difficult situations. He was considering playing that particular card to his German teacher and retaking the test he'd failed, since it really bogged his grade down.

"I 'spose so," Pickles said, grunting again. He jumped a bit, force actually lifting his feet from the ground. Toki couldn't help but smirk. "Goddamn, what is this stuff made of?"

"That's what we're supposed to be finding out, I think. Um, anyway, Pickle, I think I—like somebody." Toki immediately rammed his chin into his chest and shut his eyes, fists curling. Something in his body lunged forward, kind of like he was about to throw up but without the actual throwing up part.

Pickles stopped trying to scrub the mystery substance from the tray, dropping it into the sink with a loud, tinny ringing noise. He sent a sheepish smile off in the direction of the teacher and then turned to Toki, who had now cracked his eyes open and was looking in Pickles's direction. Pickles eyes were wide, a grin growing on his lips. "What's that I heard? You actually like somebody? Who is she?" Pickles clapped a hand on Toki's back and jumped, this time on his accord.

"Um—" Toki began, but it appeared that Pickles was not yet finished talking. Toki looked down at the floor, wincing with pain as Pickles twisted his hand on Toki's back. Pickles's palm and Toki's wound from his most recent lashing met up at the same place near his shoulder blade, and every time Pickles caused more friction, Toki would try not to cry. He'd almost forgotten the severity of a lashing gash.

"Is it Emmy?" Pickles asked, rubbing his hand against Toki's back once more. Toki fought every urge of crying and crying out he had, keeping his body still. "It's Emmy, isn't it?" Pickles jumped again and looked off in the direction of Emmy. Toki did as well, as he'd actually forgotten who Emmy was.

Emmy was the girl with the periwinkle puffballs, though today she was wearing her hair down and straightened. She was talking to Rockzo, leaning on her lab table while her lab partner actually did what they were supposed to. Emmy too was decked in clown clothes, platform boots and some sort of rainbow lolita skirt monstrosity that must've cost forty dollars at the local Hot Topic with a shirt that exposed her naval in her relaxed position, and Toki twitched. He could not figure out why Pickles would think he liked Emmy. He'd maybe spoken to her once, asking for his pencil back when it had managed to catapult near her desk in one of his classes during ninth grade. It had been an awkward and embarrassing experience for both parties involved, he felt. Even with his limited knowledge of anything romantic, Toki could see that they would clearly not make a good couple. Emmy sort of frightened him.

"Ah, man." Pickles still hadn't shut up. "This is great." His smile split in his face evenly in two, his eyebrows manically curved, piercings catching the fluorescent lights. In that moment, Pickles sort of frightened him too.

Toki swallowed the lump in his throat and started to form a plan for directing Pickles away from the ridiculous Emmy thing, and more towards the correct, albeit still slightly ridiculous, Skwisgaar thing. "Why would you think I like her?" Toki asked, tilting his head.

He meant it incredulously and innocently, the wording designed to tell Pickles that he was wrong without actually telling Pickles that he was wrong, but Pickles didn't interpret it like that. "You're always staring at her," he said, nodding his head furiously. "I was just talkin' to Nathan about this, too," he continued, flicking a dread over his shoulder and crossing his arms. He bobbed his head once more, fierce and swift, his final judgment made.

"Well—" Toki began to speak with the intention of correcting Pickles, but once more it seemed that Pickles himself was not done speaking. Toki sighed deep as Pickles's voice crashed into his eardrums.

"Now I just gotta hook you two lovebirds up," Pickles said, grinning in a way that exposed his canines and made him much more threatening. "She's totally gonna fuck you, dood."

Pickles's lechery was actually starting to make Toki feel a little sick to his stomach. He sighed again and pinched the bridge of his nose. Pickles seriously wasn't getting this. "You're really not getting it," Toki said,

"Do you not wanna fuck her?" Pickles asked, tilting his head and making a face at Toki like Toki had denied the sky was blue. "That's a little gay, dood." He took his hand from Toki's back, trying to be casual about it.

Toki sighed for the third time, unable to think of something to say next. He had lost all motivation to confess about his sexuality crisis re: Skwisgaar Skwigelf somewhere after Pickles suggested that Toki liked Emmy, and felt exhausted from the train wreck of a conversation. He prickled with stress and discomfiture. Thus, he said "Pickle, I need to clean up my lab," gesturing to the equipment that he had placed on the counter adjacent to the sink before beginning his conversation.

Pickles nodded. "We'll talk more later," he said, and then he was off, walking with a spring in his step while he carried his lab equipment to its proper place in the classroom. Toki couldn't tell if Pickles was happy because of Toki, or if he was just being whimsical in general, but he enjoyed watching his friend behave vaguely like a leprechaun.

Toki had a far easier time scrubbing the tray clean of the sticky residue than Pickles, though whether that was due to his superior strength or domestic prowess he couldn't tell. He dawdled at the sink, relishing the three minutes of being alone and reluctant to thrust himself back into the world of overcomplicated social interactions. He had flipped the tray over three times, water gliding down the metal and bouncing colorful little specks of light off in the most delightful of fashion, and scrubbed the inside of the test tubes two times before a girl tapped him on the shoulder and informed him of her need to use the sink. Toki blustered and moved out of the way, face heating up with embarrassment, and hurried to deposit his immaculate lab equipment. He returned to his desk in welcome solitude—Pickles and Nathan were discussing something with their heads huddled together and turned away from Toki and Rockzo was still chatting Emmy up—and stared at the data he was supposed to be processing, weighing the pros and cons of actually processing it. For lack of anything better to do, he started to construct a clean and neat data table, plugging numbers into columns before plugging numbers into equations.

Pickles rotated his chair around to face Toki at an angle, arms folded on top of the back and head resting on top of them, face maniacal. "So Nathan and me were talkin'," he began, curling his lip, "and we thought we could probably get you a date with Emmy this weekend." Nathan grunted in agreement from the pile he had made himself into, head down on the desk.

Toki put aside his calculator and the paper he'd been doing his calculations on and looked at Pickles, fighting the urge to sigh yet again. This whole thing was exhausting. "Pickle, I—" He struggled for a few seconds to think of a way to end that sentence. Pickle, I…don't want to date Emmy? Pickle, I…really wish you would stop trying to hook me up with a girl I don't want? Pickle, I…don't even want a girl? Pickle, I…want to discuss something very different with you… Pickle, I…think I'm in love with the lead guitarist of Attending Fuckface Academy. Pickle, I…promised Skwisgaar I'd go to his show on Saturday. "Pickle, I promised Skwisgaar I'd go to his show on Saturday?"

"Skwisgaar? So we're on a first name basis now, eh? Okay, but that's Saturday night, what 'bout Friday evening?" Pickles looked towards Nathan as if for validation, but Nathan couldn't be less interested in the conversation. Pickles looked back at Toki, expecting a response.

"My parents wouldn't let me do that," Toki said, and for the first time in his life, he was grateful for his parents' ridiculous rules. He gave a pathetic little shrug of the shoulders and a wiggle of the eyebrows to indicate that he was just so saddened by this.

Pickles slapped his own arm. "Damn, forgot about 'em douchebags," Pickles said. "This is gonna be harder than I thought." He swiveled back around and pulled out his phone to text somebody; Toki felt relieved. He wondered if he was good at lying and if Pickles was good enough at reading people to pick up on Toki's blatantly obvious fabrications. He came to an uneasy decision that while he was shit at lying, Pickles wasn't that astute at social cues, and maybe—just maybe—he could scrape by until Saturday without having to interact with Emmy. Maybe. Possibly. Hopefully.

Pickles continued to hound Toki for the next two days about dating Emmy. He collected a variety of information about her for Toki: she had a cup size of 32D, wore a size 4 in jeans, lost her virginity at the age of fourteen, and had a really good drug dealer. She loved guitarists, men with long hair and glam metal. Her favorite color was neon. Her ideal date had to involve ice-skating, a five-star restaurant and shooting heroin or dropping acid in a back alley somewhere, though she didn't care about the order. Toki figured Pickles must have connections in Rockzo's weirdo group of friends to be learning all of this, despite his proclaimed hatred for the clique. Clownish children began to stare at Toki in the hall and whisper among themselves as he passed, and he knew they were talking about his apparently colossal crush on Emmy, and there was nothing he could do to counteract the rumor. His face heated every time he heard his name mashed with Emmy's, a mantra of Toki and Emmy Toki and Emmy Toki and Emmy following him everywhere he went. It surprised him that Emmy had not yet approached him, and though he was glad of that fact, he lived his life in fear of the moment when she would.

The Emmy predicament had one upside, and one upside only—it made him appreciate Skwisgaar and his newfound sexuality much, much more. The idea of being in a relationship with that girl—and that was a guarantee, as Pickles had assured him again and again that Emmy was a slut and Toki was good-looking enough to make it work—scared him, even grossed him out on some levels. Toki didn't know much about females, the only ones he came into contact with on a regular basis being his mother, the women of his church, and Abigail. He didn't care to associate with them, though it was no fault of their own. Toki clicked better with guys. How he hadn't figured out that he would click better with another boy on a romantic level earlier befuddled him, because once that slid into place in his mind it just made so much sense. And the boy he wanted to click with shredded guitar, hailed from Sweden, and had taken an interest in him. If he removed Emmy from his life at the moment, his life at the moment was not all that bad. Every time Pickles confronted him with a new Emmy factoid—she smells like strawberries, she could fit her fist in her mouth—Toki would comfort himself with the fact that Fuckface Academy's second show was just days away, his chance to see Skwisgaar for the second time lurking at the end of the week.

He could not live in this blissful limbo for long, and thus his dilemma came to a head at lunch on Thursday. He sat with his assembled group at the table, Pickles eating a churro he'd bought from Taco Bell before school, Nathan on his second slice of leftover Papa John's he'd brought to school, and Murderface slurping back school spinach. Toki pecked at a granola bar—raisin again, what the fuck—and looked off in the distance, his mind occupied with forming a fantasy about the way Saturday would go down. He'd become accustomed to lunch periods fashioned similar to this, fantasizing about Skwisgaar intercut with Pickles's insinuations about Emmy.

"Hey, Toki," Murderface said, leaning over and prodding Toki in the shoulder with the end of his plastic spoon to get his attention. He interrupted Toki's version of Toki and Skwisgaar just as they were about to embark on one of those horse-drawn carriage rides they offered downtown. "Let'sch go to the schkate park after schscool today."

Pickles practically leaped out of his seat, his churro falling from his hands to the table. Toki grew annoyed; horse-drawn carriages were expensive. "I gahtta idea!" Pickles screeched, slamming his hands on the table. "Don't go to skate park."

"But I like the skate park," Toki said, setting his granola bar down on the table. He figured he was about to face a barrage of Emmy-related pestering from Pickles. "Why wouldn't I go with Murderface?"

"It didn't occur to me that he could go out with Emmy after school," Pickles said as he settled back into his seat, addressing Nathan, palms flat on the table with his elbows at an odd angle. Nathan did his best to look interested, but he seemed more preoccupied with making love to the third piece of pizza with his mouth. "I mean, yeah, it's kinda lame, but that's our Toki." Pickles grinned at Toki like he meant it affectionately. Toki did not find it affectionate.

"No way," Murderface said, and Toki found himself thankful of Murderface like he'd been thankful of most of his life's non-Emmy annoyances lately. "I'm meeting up with Dick today at the schkate park. If the copsch buscht usch, I need schomebody to take the blame."

Toki beamed with gratitude, hoping the drug deal proposal would placate Pickles. It did not; Pickles continued to talk and Toki's beaming lessened with every syllable. Nervousness began to creep into him—Pickles was serious. "Why the fuck do you have to meet up with Dick at the skate park? Don't you see the douchebag, like, every day?"

"Not every day," Murderface mumbled. He took a bite of his sandwich and turned away from Pickles and the rest of the table, crossing his arms over his chest and exhaling severely. "Never mind, then."

Pickles ignored Murderface and sent more enthusiasm Toki's way. "C'mon, dude! You could probably fit in ice-skating or some alley action, make her happy, she fucks you, or at least blows you, all is good. I could arrange it for today! Isn't this great, Nathan?" He nudged Nathan in the side. Nathan grunted, still more interested in the pizza.

"Pickle, can you come to the bathroom with me please?" Toki said, his beam completely dissipated and replaced by a horrid sense of nerves. He spoke with a grave expression, even pitch and tone and eyes locked onto Pickles's. He felt marginally proud of himself for being able to stifle the rising hysteria he'd been feeling all week and the nerves threatening to collapse in upon themselves long enough to ask the question.

"Uh, what? You need help pissin'?" Pickles asked, raising his eyebrows. Nathan chuckled, and Murderface let a hissy sliver of laughter through tightly closed lips, but Toki remained emotionless and expressionless. Inwardly he felt like the inside of a rainmaker as somebody rotated it up and down. Pickles's face fell, and then rearranged itself into a signpost of understanding. "Oh, okay," he said, getting up from the table. Toki did so also, leaning back and stretching. His back didn't hurt form the lashing anymore, the gash scabbed over and definitely going to scar.

They did not go to the bathroom, but just outside the cafeteria, where Toki could isolate Pickles and explain the situation to him. Toki was nervous, but he swallowed down a bundle of bile and jittery worries, looking around to ensure the hallway was clear. It was; Toki placed his hands on Pickles's shoulders. This was important, necessary, his life was hinging on it, and he earnestly believed this. He curled his fingers deep into Pickles's shoulders, and Pickles opened his mouth to say something, clearly befuddled.

"I don't like Emmy," Toki said, before Pickles could start talking and not leave room for Toki to voice his own opinion, which had been happening a lot recently. Toki's fingers twitched but he kept them on Pickles's shoulders, staring deep into his eyes, feeling like the fate of the world was resting on him making this conversation go flawlessly.

"What?" Pickles said, eyes widening, jaw dropping open. "You don't?"

"No," Toki said. He removed his hands from Pickles's shoulders slowly, resting his arms straight by his sides. He did not break eye contact with Pickles and retained the same serious expression. Pickles seemed to grow increasingly confused, opening and closing his mouth before deciding on what to say, and reaching into his front pocket like he wanted to get his cigarettes out. Instead he pulled his phone out and lit the screen up without looking at it before sliding it back into the depths of his jeans.

"But you told me you liked somebody," Pickles said. He did not seem hurt, merely baffled, and Toki did not feel bad. No, the sense of urgency gripped him as tightly as he had gripped Pickles, somebody else's hands coiling around his shoulders.

"Yes," Toki said, crossing his arms and nodding and his head. "I does—do. I do." He flushed at the grammar mistake, losing his composure for the first time and knowing that a dam had been broken. He knew Pickles didn't give a fuck about that, but Toki had been finding himself slipping into Norwegian or butchering English with more frequency lately. He hoped the others didn't notice it, though he figured they didn't give a fuck, either. Still, he remained rather self-conscious about his speech, and it triggered emotions to come crashing back down into his body. He was weak, incapable of defending them apart from the stony masquerade he'd constructed, and now without that, he felt at danger to melt and slip away before finishing this goddamn confession.

"Then who is it?" Pickles tilted his head and scrunched his face up at Toki. "If it's Abigail—"

"It's not Abigail." Toki shifted weight from one foot to another, crossed his arms and sighed—he'd been doing a lot of sighing recently, as well. Urgency and nerves and everything he'd been feeling over the weak was swelling inside of him, reaching a peak, and it was frightening and dangerous and if Toki was a nuclear power plant there was about to be a meltdown.

"Stop bullshitting me," Pickles said. "You've got me all curious, 'n' if it's not Emmy, and if it's not Abigail, then I really can't think of anybody else."

"It's Skwisgaar," Toki blurted out. Then he died, or at least he felt like he died, as his heart crawled out of his mouth and his stomach dropped to his feet. He inhaled sharply and bought his hand to cover his mouth, trying to force the words to go back inside and failing, as he reddened and began to regret his decision to tell Pickles immediately. He cast his head down in shame and squeezed his eyes shut. He saw fireworks on his eyelids, orange and yellow and blue and green explosions against the black backdrop, and kept squeezing his eyes shut harder to coax more into appearing. They calmed him, distracted him, and he was able to slip into a sort of enlightenment where he wasn't freaking out about what he had just done.

There was silence for a little while, but no sound of footsteps. Toki kept his eye shut and listened to Pickles's breathing. Pickles breathed normally, no signs of upset there. Toki dared to crack his eyes open after some awkward seconds that felt like decades and stared down at Pickles's feet, at his blue and black old school Adidas, treasured and worn, his pants rolling down onto the dirtied laces, basically an extension of Pickles's personality. Toki noticed, desperate to think about anything else, that Pickles had unusually small feet for a guy.

"You're gay," Pickles said, absent of any particular infliction. Toki looked up to establish eye contact with Pickles, though not in the strong, determined way of earlier but in a meek, concerned manner. Pickles's face was also void of expression, which worried Toki, until Pickles followed up his previous statement with "Why didn't you just tell me?"

"You're not mad?" Toki asked, squeaking the words out. He was utterly and thoroughly mortified, as the implications of what had just happened came raining down on him. He'd just come out for the first time, he'd confessed to actually having feelings for somebody, he'd dug himself a hole and kept going deeper and deeper into the pit of the earth. He wished he could just fall through the concrete and down into the pits of hell and escape this life already.

"Why would I be mad? I just wish you'd told me earlier, would've saved me a fuckload of work this week," Pickles said. He was relaxed, like he was having a conversation about the weather, and this relaxation rubbed off on Toki and eased him once more into a state of enlightenment, where he didn't have to worry. He was embarrassed, but the uncomfortable flood of emotions he'd felt was receding. He felt sort of peaceful, actually.

"Well, um, yeah," Toki said, and he laughed a little, nervous and jittery.

"I mean, it really just explains why you've been so obsessed with Fuckface Academy," Pickles mused, scratching at his chin. He'd been trying to grow in a goatee lately; it looked like shit, but nobody wanted to tell him. His face split into another one of those scary smiles. "It's 'cause you're obsessed with Skwisgaar."

Toki ignored those particular comments and instead said, "So, um, nothing's weird between us?" He rubbed and patted his thighs, void of things to with his hands, and felt weak with relief as opposed to nerves and negativity for once.

"Nah," Pickles said, waving his hand. "I don't really care 'bout what you wanna fuck, tell you the truth."

Toki exhaled in relief and enveloped Pickles in a hug. "Thanks, Pickle," he said, and he meant it, oh how he meant it. Pickles might have Nathan, and Toki was expected to have Murderface in a similar manner, but Murderface had Dick. Regardless, Toki loved his friends deeply, even if they didn't love him quite that deeply back, and on a normal day he was so incredibly thankful of them. Today, Toki was prepared to construct a temple for Pickles and immortalize him as the god of friendship and advice. He felt Pickles may object to that though, and settled for crushing Pickles inside his arms. Pickles was short but not completely skinny, just the slightest bit of chub to him that you couldn't even tell until you hugged him.

Pickles actually hugged back, patting Toki on the back, but he broke the embrace quickly. "No problem, dood. Don't know what you're thanking me for, but, uh, no problem." He pulled out his phone and checked the time. "We should probably be headin' back in now." he said.

"Just—don't tell the other guys. Not yet." Toki looked around to make sure the conversation wasn't overheard, but the hall outside the cafeteria was empty, the nearest person buying something at a vending machine out of earshot.

"'Kay," Pickles said, and they walked back to the cafeteria. The conversation made Toki nervous, and when Toki felt nervous he got very hot and uncomfortable, but he was no longer sweating or on the verge of collapsing. He was cleansed, his problems evaporating like the sweat on his back, and he began to grow optimistic about the future. He took his seat opposite Nathan, Pickles and Murderface, picked up his granola bar and resumed eating it, though he didn't taste it, not really. Euphoria festered inside the pit of his stomach, started to bubble up, and warmed his insides in a pleasant way. He let himself believe that everything was going to be okay, that Skwisgaar was going to love him back, that the other guys would accept that, and that he was going to reach a nirvana of teenage hood that he had previously thought impossible. He let himself believe, if only for this lunch period, that his life was beginning to look up.

"What took you guysch scho long in the bathroom?" Murderface asked, having spun his body back around into the conversation, mood swing over.

"Long line," Pickles said, waving his hand like he'd done to Toki earlier. Pickles turned towards Nathan. "Did y'hear the new Cymoid Sample song? So, so brutal." They began their own conversation, independent of all else, and Toki didn't even feel envious.

Instead, Toki looked at Murderface and said, "Sure, I'll go to the skate park with you."

"Good, 'causche Dick schaid he hasch schome fantaschtic jolly green." Murderface ate the last of his food and pushed the tray away, reclining as far back as the backless chair would allow. He started playing with his unused plastic knife until it bended into an unusable form and snapped.

"Jolly green?" Toki asked. He thought it might be weed, but he'd never heard the term before.

"Kusch. Atschitschi. Dagga. Mary Jew Anna." Murderface continued to shell out obscure names for marijuana, and Toki let him, not really caring and chewing his granola bar as he watched Murderface count off the slang on his fingers. He got to thirty-two before Pickles barked at him to shut the fuck up, mother douchebag and Murderface sneered back, but quieted.

Pickles went home with Nathan after school while Toki and Murderface did their usual skatepark routine. Toki met Murderface at his locker, accepted the cheap piece of shit board, and skated just a step ahead of Murderface. Murderface's select topic to tirade against today was, of all things, the girls that sat in front of them in English. "You think I'm a nische, don't ya, Toki?" He asked, running a hand over his hair. He shook his head and shrugged his shoulders like he couldn't imagine anybody disagreeing with him.

Toki didn't respond, just glided on the sidewalk, shirt and hair billowing behind him. He loved this. He loved the world. He couldn't be bothered with Murderface's shit; he was too happy. He'd also manage to scrape up enough money for the horse-drawn carriage again, a month later, and he and Skwisgaar were laughing at some old lady who fell down on the street and spilled her groceries across the cobblestone.

"Well, I think I am, and that'sch all that mattersch," Murderface said, stepping up his pace to match Toki's and visibly straining from the effort. "All I aschked wasch to schee her titsch, sche didn't have to schlap me. And her friend didn't have to beat me up. What bitchesch."

"Girls suck," Toki said, smirking a bit to himself. "Even the nice ones are bitches."

"I know!" Murderface thrust his arms towards the sky, falling behind Toki, and Toki laughed. Murderface laughed also.

Toki didn't quite believe that all women were bitches, partly because he didn't know enough women to make a judgment, and even then the women he knew weren't truly bitches. His mother was barely a person, the ladies at his church were fake and obnoxious but not bitches, and Abigail may be strict and professional but she wasn't unjust or ridiculous. But it was fun to be facetious and feed into Murderface's ranting, and Toki was in the mood for fun. He did not feel this way often, but when he did, he relished in it, exaggerated in it. The sun beat down on him, the unusual heat for October bathing him in comfortable warmth, and the lazy breeze accelerated by his own acceleration pushed his hair out of his face. He felt loved and cherished and good and young and fun, so much fun, the smirk did not leave his face the whole way to the skatepark as it slipped into an actual smile.

Murderface met up with Dick, exchanged money for a bag of suspicious green curdles, then hung out with him, smoking some jolly green and pushing each other back and forth. Toki took to the actual skatepark part, doing the pipes and the handrails like always. The park was congested today and he collided with a young kid, no older than nine, who fell to the concrete, skidded, and scraped his knee up badly. Toki wish he cared but he didn't, just rolled onwards, picking his momentum back up and turning to go into a bowl. He did the only trick he knew how at the opposite side, lifting his board above and grabbing the back with his hand before letting it slam down again, then crisscrossed across for the remainder of his time at the skatepark, which was a short-lived visit. Murderface called Toki's name and Toki skated out of the park to the fence, picked up the board and tucked it under his arm. He followed Murderface and Dick down the street to a nearby parking lot for a Finntroll.

Toki and Murderface did not take the bus home today, but rode with Dick. Dick drove a modest car, jet black with ridiculously nice speakers and broken heating. The uncommon hotness made the broken heating irrelevant and Dick blasted some weird Scandinavian techno music on the way home that Murderface bitched about endlessly, with Dick reassuring him that these guys were totally genius and revolutionary and other flattering, overused musical jargon, that Toki actually found sort of genius and maybe a little revolutionary. Murderface rode passenger, Toki in the back behind him, looking out the window. Toki actually liked the boring landscape of suburban Florida, found it a comfort, and he'd been feeling pretty comfortable that day. He bid goodbye to Dick and Murderface when Dick screeched to a halt in front of Toki's house, though neither of them said goodbye back, and walked up the pathway to his front door. He laughed to himself imagining Dick and Murderface squabbling about the Scandinavian techno music, and it wasn't even that funny.

He cleaned the bathrooms and the kitchen, cut the branches of the tree in the backyard and tended to his garden all without any major failure, ensuring that he would have a pleasant, gentle evening as well. The garden yielded heavy, robust vegetables with smooth skins that felt pleasant in his hands, and though he usually enjoyed the garden, today he felt ecstatic to crouch amongst the earth and look for bad bugs among the good. He realized that he had neglected to inform his parents of his desire to be out again this weekend, and decided on doing so at dinner, hoping his perfect performance in his chores this day (and since the lashing) would earn him some leverage. He took a shower before dinner, his mother cooking in the kitchen and his father still not home, and even thought about touching himself. He didn't do that often, having little to no privacy at home or anywhere else and eventually decided against it when he realized he'd been in the shower for a while already. Suspicion would not play into his plans of leaving the house this Friday. He exited the shower and toweled off, somewhat pleased with the way he'd been bulking up lately. Hard labor made a hard body, even if it was a scarred mess of a body, it was still his own.

He dressed nicely for dinner, knowing his parents preferred it that way and even tied his hair back at the nape of his neck. He sat up straight at the table, a model son with proper manners, and didn't put his elbows on the table once. He didn't think his parents noticed.

"Far, Mar," he began when they neared the end of their meal, "I would like permission to go out again this weekend." He spoke the last part in Norwegian as well; he'd never spoken English in the presence of his father, he didn't think. He swallowed back a ball of nerves and continued on. "I'll ask Nathan to ask his mother to call you," he said to his mother. He did not address his father directly.

His mother nodded and his father said nothing, which could be a good or a bad sign; Toki really didn't know. As a bonus he cleared the table himself, rolled his sleeves up and washed the dishes, elbow-deep in bubbles and hope. He even did his homework at the kitchen table in full view of his parents when they passed through. His parents didn't care about school, more about chores and tasks and church and piles of firewood, but he personally saw no reason to not do his homework. The night was young, the sun having just recently dipped below the horizon, and he did not feel too tired. He felt good. Invigorated. His math homework looked like a foreign language and the book he was supposed to be reading for English bored him out of his mind, but he translated the passage for German pretty well, and felt fulfilled from the experience overall.

At some point, while he was trying to figure out what schmetterling meant without looking in his book, his mother walked by and touched him on the shoulder. She looked at him and nodded, and Toki understood this to mean that, yes, he could go out with his friends again. He stopped himself from leaping up and hugging his mother, honestly shocked that he possessed such an urge. It clicked in his brain that schmetterling was the wood for butterfly and he scribbled out the rest of the passage, a quaint story about spring in Germany, then rushed into his room and smiled into his pillow.

He arranged the finer details of their weekend plans with Murderface, Nathan and Pickles at lunch the next day, including for Halloween, which they had collectively forgotten was that Sunday in the hysteria of the Emmy fiasco. Nathan would pick Toki up in time for the show; they would head to the festival; Toki would spend the night yet again at Nathan's; they would trick-or-treat ("because candy, that's why, fucker" as Nathan so eloquently put it) and Toki would be returned to his parents that night. To Toki, this meant that he would not be attending church for the second week in a row, and that there were actually things in his life to look forward to, and that he would be seeing Skwisgaar Skwigelf in a little over twenty-four hours, and he had a weekend of enjoyable activities to look forward to. Pickles winked at Toki while the group touched upon the show, and Toki just stuck his tongue out back, feeling young and feeling right.


	5. Gray Skies, Blue Eyes

"I'm schweating ballsch out here."

Nathan, Pickles and Toki sent a collective glare at Murderface; Dick sighed and tipped his head back. It was hot, milling about an uninteresting October festival at three in the afternoon, but if Murderface complained one more goddamned time, Toki was possibly going to murder his face. Murderface was wearing that leather jacket again, along with jeans and combat boots, while the rest were clad in shorts and t-shirts. Dick had suggested that if Murderface dress more appropriately he might not suffer in life as much, which caused Murderface to actively ignore him, and now a sort of tension buzzed between them that the other guys felt awkward being around. But, Toki thought as they approached a cart selling drinks, there was nowhere else he'd rather be.

Pickles bought a bottle of water for Toki and Toki held it to his head, closing his eyes and moaning at the cold. He was sensitive to heat-induced headaches and suffered one now, dull pain throbbing orange behind his eyelids. He opened his eyes and hurried to catch up when he heard footsteps. The five of them walked over to an area with benches occupied by young mothers with young children and filled two benches between the five of them, Toki wedged in with Pickles and Dick. They'd arrived just ten minutes ago, figuring that since it was a festival there'd surely be something to do to occupy them for an hour before Fuckface Academy came on. They were wrong; the festival sucked balls and mostly showcased American consumerism, the band currently playing sucked balls, the weather sucked balls, everything sucked balls. Toki, despite the buzzing, anticipatory experiencing he'd been housing for days, had to agree that this was probably not the best time he'd ever have in his life. He still felt pretty happy and bouncy with anticipation, though.

"Scheriouschly, guysch," Murderface said, extending his legs and stretching his arms far above his head, "it'sch fucking hot." Murderface sat with Nathan on the bench beside Toki's, and between the two of them nobody else could've fit. Nathan's size consisted of muscle, Murderface's of fat and leather malodorous with sweat. He had horrible pit stains crawling down his sides, almost to the hem of his pants, and Toki could only imagine the stench he emitted.

"We know that, sweetheart," Dick snipped. He covered his eyes with his left hand and looked off to the side, right hand gripping his elbow. "You've told us. Several times." He had his hair pulled back in a tight, shiny ponytail, sunglasses on his head like he was trying to appear as a hotshot producer, and Pickles had laughed about it to Nathan when Dick had come through the gates to meet them.

"The fuck are we gonna do for an hour?" Nathan said, punctuating the question with a long, cheast-heaving groan. "There's nothing to do."

"We could walk somewhere and come back," Pickles suggested. "There's a gelato—" but he was unable to finish his sentence, as everybody began laughing at the way he said gelato. Pickles crossed his arms. The novelty of his accent hadn't worn off with age and though everyday words lost their appeal, this was perhaps the first time Toki had heard Pickles say gelato, and holy shit did he say it weirdly, a flat a and a long o in that whiny pitch. Toki had to admit it was pretty funny and snorted (rather discreetly, he thought) himself.

But because Pickles seemed sort of upset, Toki scrounged for something to say in Norwegian, because the guys thought the language sounded hilarious. It kind of did, but Toki felt that it had an underlying beauty to it that he didn't care if the other guys didn't see. "Jada, la oss få noe kaldt," he said, exaggerating his own accent quite a bit and accompanying the phrase with overdone, touristy hand motions. It slayed the other guys, even Pickles, and he sent Toki an appreciative smile.

Eventually the band currently playing was replaced with another band that sucked marginally less balls and Toki and the guys wandered over to watch, buying churros from a vender on the way. Murderface complained about his and announced his intentions to give his complaints to the vender; Dick wandered off to find a bathroom. Nathan, Pickles and Toki inspected the stalls, spending some time at a local fruit and vegetable seller, picking out the phallic foods and laughing at them, making jokes about who matched what fruit in size and shape the best and holding them in front of their crotches like the mature young men they were. Toki sort of felt like a third wheel and hung back, watching as Pickles picked through what everybody was selling and Nathan stood beside him, making noises of agreement whenever Pickles expressed an opinion and occasionally offering his own. Eventually Dick and Murderface found them once more, both mumbling unhappily about their respective experiences away from the herd, and they returned to meandering around and getting on people's nerves with their brashness, which Toki felt bad about until he remembered where he was and what he was doing. Then he got pumped.

Skwisgaar was easy to notice in a crowd, everything about him remarkable, but mostly because he towered above everybody else. They passed the churro stand for the fifth time, the vender glaring at Murderface, when Toki saw Skwisgaar and the rest of his band approaching the stage. Skwisgaar glided, swanlike and elegant; the other guys wandered behind him, sluggish and nonchalant. Toki wanted to tug on Pickles's shirtsleeve and point, but instead he said, "Guys, I think's that them, Fuckface Academy," and did some half-step dance thing as he went to turn in the direction of the band, then stopped, then started walking with his friends again.

"Oh, thank the lordsch," Murderface said, and he changed his direction towards the stage. The rest followed him, and Toki felt like somebody had just thrown a bucket of water over him, overcome with eagerness and excitement. Dick tittered beside him, straightening his clothes and his sunglasses, presumably trying to look professional. Murderface was still actively ignoring Dick and making a sort of show out of it; he kept failing at starting conversations with people walking past them, asking some old lady about her teacup Chihuahua and stealing a shaved ice from a little boy, slurping at the artificially red chips with his abnormally small tongue. Dick didn't seem to notice, his eyes transfixed on Attending Fuckface Academy, licking his lips over and over again.

"So after this we can leave this gay-ass festival, right?" Nathan said as he tried to compact himself into a foldable chair on the lawn in front of the stage. It was not going well. "God, this sucks ass."

Toki shushed Nathan and leaned forward. He sat between Pickles and Dick as usual, Nathan beside Pickles and Murderface beside Nathan. Dick finally acknowledged Murderface and kept looking between him and the stage. Toki was trying very hard not to stare as Fuckface Academy set up, but he couldn't help it. Skwisgaar was not involved; he was off to the side of the stage, leaning against it and resting his elbows on it, smoking a cigarette that look like it'd been hastily rolled by hand. Toki felt something burst inside of him like fireworks, individual sparks flying through his chest, when Skwisgaar dropped the cigarette, rubbed it out with the heel of his studded leather boots, caught Toki's eye and walked over in his direction.

"How do I look?" he asked Pickles, out of instinct. Pickles raised his eyebrows at him, double eyebrow rings catching the sun and hurting Toki's eyes, and said nothing.

Toki stood and shook Skwisgaar's hand—rough, calloused, unsurprising considering his career. Skwisgaar had his hair pulled back, a few too-short strands falling on his cheekbones, eyes narrowed and eyebrows knitted, plush lips tight. He was wearing a black t-shirt a few sizes too big, tucked behind his Swedish flag belt buckle as always, and extremely distressed white jeans, boots hiding underneath. There was sweat on his hairline, and Toki looked everywhere but at his eyes, afraid to meet them. Instead he examined the faint frown lines, the cut of his jaw, the contours of his cheeks, and the empty piercing holes in his ears; Toki counted three, two in the lobe, one on the cartilage, and wondered why Skwisgaar wasn't wearing any earrings.

"Hellos, ja?" Skwisgaar said, and gave Toki's hand a final shake and bringing him back into the conversation. "Yous comes."

"Yeah, I comes," Toki said. He flushed. Skwisgaar raised a single eyebrow but otherwise ignored Toki's slip.

"And yous brings your friends." Skwisgaar scanned the four guys still sitting, and Toki did too; Pickles was whispering something in Nathan's ear; Nathan was slouching, uninterested in the world, though he grunted an appreciative laughter at whatever Pickles had to say; Dick was staring at Skwisgaar like he was a piece of meat slightly too expensive to afford and he had to recalculate his budget because he really felt like steak that night; and Murderface had fallen asleep, snoring and twitching. Skwisgaar laughed.

"Yeah, that Murderface," Toki said, chuckling a little himself. He felt pathetic and uncool in the present company, though he supposed Nathan and Pickles weren't too bad. "So, um. How are you?"

"I just comes over here to sees yous," Skwisgaar said. "I ams glad you ams able to makes it. Good show tonight. Stays around afterwards. Yous, not your, ah, friends, ja?" Skwisgaar did not look at Toki while he said this but behind him. At what, Toki could not know, because he was focused on Skwisgaar's Adam's apple, as that was what he was at eyelevel with. He watched it bob as Skwisgaar talked, overcome with the impulse to reach up and lick it, resisting the urge to make a bobbing for apples joke in his head. At least the pun was festive, considering Halloween was the next day and they were standing in an October festival.

"Okay, ja, I does that," Toki said, cursing himself at the terrible English that he was quickly succumbing to. He took so much pride in his ability to master languages, too. "I, um, don't have a ride, though—"

Skwisgaar shrugged and put a hand over Toki's mouth to get him to shut up and then walked away without another word. Toki fell into his seat and licked his lips again and again, mouth open, rotating motion until his saliva faded into his skin. It tasted like cigarettes.

Toki ignored Pickles's badgering as he watched Skwisgaar return to the stage. The rest of the band was ready behind their instruments, Skwisgaar's beautiful guitar awaiting him onstage. He strolled behind it and took it in his arms in a fluid motion, his body dipping inwards as he hunched, sending pangs vibrating inside of Toki. Mark Skively took the microphone and tapped it a couple times, signaling attention. The seats in front of them were halfway filled with bored, apathetic festival-goers. Toki was leaning forward in his seat, gripping the plastic edge with such force he was losing feeling in his fingers, mouth still open.

"The first song we're gonna play is some shit Skwisgaar forced us to, I don't know," Mark said, laughing a bit. Three people in the audience stood up and left. "So—" Three additional people stood up and left. "Okay, I'm going to shut up and play, now." Under his breath he mumbled, "it's a cover of a song called Honey Bunny by a band called Girls, you unappreciative fucks," but since he hadn't removed the microphone from his mouth, the audience heard it. More people left; Nathan was bellowing and Pickles snickering with laughter.

The song was not very grunge at all, with soft vocals and an uncomplicated guitar chord and drum beat backing it up, and Toki tried very hard not to overanalyze the fact that Skwisgaar picked this song and what the lyrics said. Skwisgaar's face was screwed up throughout it, like he was annoyed, more so than usual. The song slowed in the middle and Mark crooned, getting down on his knees and everything, and people continued to leave the seats until Toki, his friends, and a handful of other individuals were the only ones left. Toki still gripped the edge of his seat, hands aching. He felt perched for flight, on some natural high that could take him out of this world, and his loneliness in that feeling made the show even more special to him.

Fuckface Academy played a couple more original songs that they hadn't played at the concert. They were a fountain of jumbled, half-written musical messes; without Mark's in-between chatting and announcing of the song titles, it all sort of ran together, the same noisy shit one after the other with only minutely different chords and beats and lyrics. Mark worked up a sweat bouncing around a stage and at one point slipped and slammed his knee, rattling the whole structure. He sprung right back up and limped around, cursing and out of breath through the song, though it sort of made it better. Toki heard Nathan telling Pickles how fuckin' metal it was, wholly without sarcasm. Toki saw Skwisgaar smirk to himself at Mark's antics and felt very connected to him, though he continued to look away whenever Skwisgaar caught his eye.

About half an hour in Mark stopped, wiped his face with a towel that'd been sitting at the front of the stage, took a huge gulp of water and raised the microphone to speak again. "Okay, I'm sorry for this, but I gotta explain some shit before this next one. This was not my fuckin' idea, okay? So if this sucks, blame him, not me. Skwisgaar's being all weird and shit and wanted to, like, specialize this show or something, I don't know, what a Swede, am I right? Anyway, he's gonna sing some song he wrote. It's, like, really fucking gay, and it's called Gray Skies, Blue Eyes or something like that, I don't even fuckin' know. Enjoy it. You probably won't, but fuck it, I'm out." He dropped his mic to the stage; the noise that resulted woke Murderface from his slumber and he sputtered, grabbing Dick's knee and asking where the gun was. Dick offered no response.

Skwisgaar took his own microphone and sighed, then shrugged. The band began to play again; there was maybe ten seconds of instrumentals before Skwisgaar began to sing, but it felt like ten years to Toki, whom was filled to the brim with frothy anticipation. Skwisgaar had a rich baritone of a singing voice, smooth and natural, and every time he hit a note it sent a shiver through Toki's body. By the end he was covered in goose bumps and crying quietly and without tears. His body shook, bones crumbling to the bottom of his belly, all of his internal organs shutting down; he saw the light, felt born again, like he'd been resurrected out of a religious experience. Pickles asked him if he was okay and Toki ignored him, relaxing his grip on his chair and sitting back in his seat, spreading his trembling knees wide. He felt like he'd just came and needed a short nap to recover, but his friends were already rising around him, poking and prodding him with questions.

"We leavin'?" Pickles asked, literally physically prodding Toki by jostling his knee.

"Oh, yeah, about that," Toki said, and he rose out of his seat slowly, like awakening from the deepest slumber one could possibly experience. He forgot how to walk and stand momentarily and almost collapsed. "Skwisgaar, um. He asked me to stick around."

"Oh?" Dick and Pickles made the noise simultaneously; Dick elbowed Pickles out of the way to stand face-to-face with Toki, slamming his hands on Toki's shoulders. "Well then, I guess we will too." Dick shook Toki a little. "Don't. Fuck. This. Up," he hissed, leaning in close; Toki stared at his reflection in Dick's dark sunglasses.

"Douchebag," Pickles muttered, shoving Dick out of the way and replacing Dick's hands with his own on Toki's shoulders. He did not lean in nose-bumping, uncomfortably close. "Don't be a trashy whore and fuck on the first date," Pickles said. "And if you do, well, good for you. Anyway. Don't really have that much advice. Let me know how it goes. We'll meet you back here at, like, a quarter till one, okay?" Pickles released Toki with force and Toki stumbled backwards, almost falling. His friends left him while he tripped, Pickles announcing that they were going to get gelato and putting effort into pronouncing it properly; he failed miserably. Toki watched Nathan throw an arm around Pickles's shoulders to keep himself steady as he laughed heartily and walked at the same time, a complicated task.

Skwisgaar wandered over, found Toki and threw an arm around him, taking Toki completely by surprise. Skwisgaar did not smell pleasantly but he did smell delightfully, pheromones smacking Toki in the face. He wanted to close his eyes and sleep against Skwisgaar's side, but Skwisgaar seemed to be leading him towards the stage, towards the band, which were packing up while Skwisgaar watched with an arm around Toki still. Toki was not used to the warm weight of the extension of another person and it was strange, but it was not unwelcome.

"Yous remember their names, ja?" Skwisgaar asked, looking down at Toki. Toki kept his head tucked, still afraid to meet eye contact and baffled by Skwisgaar's calmness.

"The singer is Mark," Toki said, "and you're Skwisgaar, and…um…"

Skwisgaar laughed, the condescending nature of it setting Toki at ease. He felt Skwisgaar's body shake against his and instinctively moved closer to it, their hips bumping. "The rhythym ams George, Georgey boy, he ams horrible. The drummer ams Ritchie, he ams horrible, too."

Toki, now gripping Skwisgaar's arm around him with his right hand, looked up at Skwisgaar. "Can I be honest with you?" he asked him, nerves swelling. Fuckface Academy were indifferent to Skwisgaar and Toki as they continued to assemble their shit and move in a generally offstage direction; the next band, some folksy Eastern European folks by the look of it, tapped their feet with their hands on their hips on the opposite side of the stage. They had instruments Toki did not know the name of, legitimate, wooden things in oblong shapes.

Skwisgaar looked down, face flat in what Toki hoped to be an indifferent manner, and said,"Ja?"

Toki inhaled deeply and tightened his hold, rubbing Skwisgaar's wrist with his thumb in little circles absentmindedly. "Your band is really fucking bad."

Skwisgaar let go of Toki and cackled, two hands on his stomach. When he finished he went to run a hand through his hair and fucked up his ponytail; as he was redoing it he said, "I knows, little Toki, I knows. Fuckface Academy ams horrible. But, it ams good for me, at de moments."

"Hvorfor?" Toki asked, and then he groaned. "I mean, why?"

"I knows what yous means," Skwisgaar said. "Remembers, I speaks Swedish, similar languages. Anyways. I am sleepingks at Mark's apartment with de rest of de band and we ams havingks shows most nights. De band sucks, but it ams new and Mark knows many peoples," Skwisgaar explained. He put his arm around Toki again and gestured towards Mark, calling his name. Mark fastened the clasp on his bass case and took it off stage, the last thing they had to do before making way for the Eastern European folks, and came over as the next band began to fill the stage with themselves.

"Yeah?" Mark asked Skwisgaar. He looked towards Toki and then extended a hand to him; Toki shook it. Mark had similarly callused hands, but they were significantly smaller, and Mark was shorter than Toki, which was sort of weird. Mark had a boyish face that made him seem a lot younger than what Toki assumed he was.

"This ams Toki," Skwisgaar said. "You remembers him from de other night?"

"No," Mark said. He shook his head; his bangs flounced against his forehead, and Toki saw he had sort of an acne-ridden face, deep scarring around his sideburns and on his forehead. "I don't. Are you picking up roadies already, Skwis?"

Toki felt Skwisgaar twitch at Skwis, but Skwisgaar said nothing about that. "No, I ams goingks to takes him out downtown. You guys leaves without me, ja?"He was smiling, as was Mark, but neither smiles reached their eyes, Toki noted as he tracked the conversation between them.

"What time are you gonna be back? We have to, like, practice and shit tonight. We have that party gig tomorrow." Mark pulled his phone from his back pocket and checked it, rolling his eyes at something he saw on the screen. "Look, it's almost six o'clock, you can have, like, five hours with the kid."

Toki made a face at being called the kid but it was his turn to say nothing about it. "It ams your band, but you ams not de manager," Skwisgaar said, fake politeness oozing in his voice. Toki felt generally uncomfortable and wanted to get away from Mark; he was already looking forward to being taken out downtown. "I does what I wants. I ams not needingks to practice, yous and George and Ritchie ams."

Mark went to say something and stopped, then scowled. "Fuck it," Mark said, and he walked away, returning to the pile of instruments and equipment the band now had to load. Skwisgaar led Toki away in the direction of the gates that would take them from the festival and to the border between the business district and the actual downtown.

"Sorry about dat," Skwisgaar said. He took his arm from around Toki's shoulders and pulled out his cigarettes and a lighter—a basic lighter, black, that took him a couple times to actually light. "You smokes?" He asked, proffering Toki the carton of cigarettes, which were much more impressive. In it were a couple of joints as well, rolled in nice white paper and hiding nestled in the rows.

"Only these," Toki said, pointing to the joints.

Skwisgaar chuckled. "Ofs course." He selected a cigarette for himself and put the carton back in his front pocket. "We'll smokes those later. I knows a good spot, if you ams scared about gettingks arrested."

"I'm not scared," Toki said, though he did feel sort of scared. Mostly he felt exhilarated and excited, every inch of his body alive and alight with expectation and experience. At the gates they turned left and started their trek downtown, soldiering through the ghetto part towards the more urbane section. Toki went downtown all the time but it felt different today, walking alongside a smoking Skwisgaar who routinely pointed towards people or things to talk about them: "Sees dat girl? She gives good head." "Mark's coke dealer ams hangingks out at dat store all de time." "We played a show there once. Good venue. If we plays there again, you should comes."

"How long have you been with Fuckface Academy?" Toki asked at one point, after they'd been walking for about ten minutes. Skwisgaar had finished his cigarette and had replaced the arm around Toki, which make Toki very happy indeed. Downtown they didn't garner that many looks, at least not judging ones; people all of all kinds regularly stared at Skwisgaar though, and he winked back at the more attractive ones. Toki found it amusing.

"Couple of months," Skwisgaar said. "When I gets to Florida I ams lost, so I wanders around. I ends up here, downtown, and I sees flyers for Fuckface Academy. They needs a guitarist. I ams a guitarist, a fucking good guitarist, so I auditions and naturally, I gets de part."

"Wowee, that ams pretty cool," Toki said. He dared a look at Skwisgaar; he was looking straight ahead, arm around Toki like it was nothing, and internally Toki felt like he was dying, his heart thrashing in his chest.

Skwisgaar made a noise in his throat. "If you says so. And yous, little Toki? What you does?"

"I skate," Toki said routinely; skateboarding was his only true hobby, and he did even that on borrowed time. "I smoke. I hang with the guys a lot; they take me places, like to shows. I kind of like learning languages, too."

"You ams boring," Skwisgaar said. He let go of Toki momentarily to retrieve another cigarette, placing it unlit between his lips, and then replaced his arm, automatic, like it was nothing, and Toki continued to die. "But you ams pretty, so it ams okay."

"I'm not boring, it's my parents," Toki said. He didn't take offense—he knew he lead a boring, uninteresting life, but he had an excuse. "Do you know the old stuffy Norwegian Protestant type? They're that type. We moved here for church-related reasons."

"Oh, yes, I knows de type," Skwisgaar said, nodding in agreement. "Makes sense, I supposes. Parents ams dildos. My mom ams a whore." Skwisgaar let go of Toki to retrieve his lighter and lit his cigarette with a flourish, taking a long drag. He breathed out a smoke ring, which sort of impressed Toki, and replaced his arm. They'd been strolling down an avenue occupied mostly by law and insurance offices, and Toki made a game out of counting the ones that ended in –stein. He was up to seven, and pointed out another to Skwisgaar whenever he saw one.

"For money?" Toki asked, looking up to Skwisgaar and trying to read his face, which remained without expression.

"For moneys," Skwisgaar said, nodding again, slow this time. He had a general air of wisdom to him, perhaps because he was older, that intrigued Toki. He enjoyed listening to him talk and wanted to all night. "But, she ams in Sweden, and I ams here, so who cares? Not I's."

"Me neither," Toki said. "My mom doesn't do anything but take care of the house. I like her more than my dad, though." Mentioning his dad made Toki cringe, old scars throbbing white-hot under his clothes, and if Skwisgaar noticed he didn't say anything.

"I ams not knowingks my dad," Skwisgaar said. He took another drag on the cigarette, face expressionless. "But I ams not caringks about dat, neither. Apathy ams a good way to lives life, Toki."

"I agrees." Toki nodded his head emphatically. He stopped trying to read Skwisgaar's face and looked ahead. They were the only ones walking down this particular avenues, though there were some cars parked in the street. "You don't get hurt, you don't hurt people. You exist. But it still doesn't mean anything."

"I ams a nihilist," Skwisgaar said. "You probably ams, too. I believes in nothing but destrucktion." Another solemn drag on the cigarette, another smoke ring, his mouth forming a most delectable o shape.

"That's some heavy shit," Toki said. "Deep."

"You should hears me when I ams high." Skwisgaar dropped the cigarette and rubbed it out, interrupting their walking briefly. When they resumed Skwisgaar pulled Toki to him closer and forcefully, which Toki liked. He ignored the giddiness bubbling up his chest and continued the conversation.

"I will, won't I?"

"Yes, you will, but dat ams de third part. There ams three part to dis little excursion—if it makes yous happy, you may calls it a date—and we ams almost near de first one. Just a little more walkingks."

Toki bubbled with keenness, adding a bounce to his step. He fought the urge to babble incessantly about his excitement, as he so often did, and try to retain at least some of his cool. Skwisgaar seemed to notice this, though. "I ams not a pedophile," he said, squeezing Toki's shoulder, "but you ams actingks like a kid, and dat sort of makes me want to fucks you, ja." Toki's eyes widened and pupils dilated automatically, the bounce in his step disappearing as he froze. Skwisgaar laughed. Toki reveled in that minute for the next five, replaying it in his mind—he himself could not imagine sex as a practical reality, but the ease of which Skwisgaar spoke of it, and the fact that Skwisgaar spoke of it in relation to Toki, whom normally thought of himself as such a not sexual being, blew Toki's mind. He wanted to be fucked by Skwisgaar on the sidewalk then and there, lose his virginity amongst the homeless beggars, teenagers that thought they were too cool, and new age liberals whom crowded the sidewalks of downtown, and he could not shake the simple sentence from his brain. Skwisgaar selected yet another cigarette and smoked while Toki walked silent, the corners of his lips curled up, and Toki knew that Skwisgaar knew exactly what he'd done and was sort of getting off on it.

"Heres we ams," Skwisgaar said eventually, swinging Toki around to the blacked-out door of a small store nestled in with some others down an unremarkable avenue. "Part number one." Toki read the sign on the door—Lilies, in small, bubbly white lettering, and underneath, Your One Stop Adult Shop. "They ams not needingks an ID," Skwisgaar explained, and he opened the door for Toki.

The store was small, dimly lit with miniscule chandeliers hanging from the painted black ceiling providing the only light source, and divided in half by a thick black curtain. Everything was black—the floor, glassy and reflective; the walls, smooth and intimidating; Toki felt like he'd entered a cave. The front half of the store seemed normal, DVDs, VHS tapes, books and magazines arranged neatly on shelves or thrown haphazardly into sale bins with some assorted jewelry and clothes thrown about. There was a counter with a cash register, bins of jelly bracelet and a bored, heavily pierced girl sitting behind it, bare feet propped up on a red satin cushion and reading a celebrity gossip magazine. Skwisgaar gave Toki a few seconds to take the front half in and then marched him straight towards the back, swiping aside the heavy black curtain. The back half of the store felt like walking into somebody's deranged sex dungeon—there was a rack of increasingly sultry lingerie to the far left, and then there were shelves and racks and displays of various sexual oddities, from modest vibrators to the sex swing hanging in a corner.

"On our first date…you take me to a sex shop," Toki said, turning to look at Skwisgaar. He had not yet decided his feelings on the matter and so kept his face impassive, body stiff under Skwisgaar's arm.

"You ams so innocent, it seemed appropriate." Skwisgaar met Toki's eye and raised a single eyebrow. "It ams an educational exkperience."

"You must've really wanted to fuck me," Toki said. He was focused on Skwisgaar; they had turned into each other, their chests making an angle, and Toki was actively avoiding looking at the store's stock. He was not going to lie to himself—he was intrigued, quite intrigued actually, and wanted to inspect everything thoroughly. He couldn't decide if he hated Skwisgaar for this or loved him for it, though he had come to the conclusion that it was such a totally Skwisgaar thing to do.

"Ams I goingks to?" Skwisgaar raised both eyebrows and squeezed Toki's shoulder, leaning in close. Toki could see the finer features of his face—the translucent eyelashes, the pores of his skin. Toki weaseled out from under Skwisgaar's arm and pushed him back, a little rough but not too much, and Skwisgaar stumbled. He caught himself before his back could acquaint itself with a rack of whips, leashes, and collars, some studded outwards, some studded inwards.

"Fucks you! I ams not a whore! I does not fuck on the first date!" Toki whispered-shouted. He couldn't make it through the whole sentence without laughing. Skwisgaar laughed along with him and shoved Toki with a single hand; behind Toki there was a blank wall with a large white flower stencil and Toki's back hit it, rattling the shelves (containing strangely shaped objects that Toki did not know were exactly) on the adjacent wall. Skwisgaar advanced on him and placed a hand on either side of Toki's head, leaning in close. He was tall enough to shield Toki with his body, and Toki placed his hands on Skwisgaar's chest, almost expecting to be kissed. When a few seconds passed and their lips had not yet met, Toki pushed Skwisgaar off of him.

"Dildo," Skwisgaar said. Toki had stood up and Skwisgaar came forward to stand in front of him, though not too close. He messed with Toki's hair, twisting the entirety of it around his hand.

"Yes, there's a lot of those here," Toki said. "Look, there's some over there." He pointed at them, purposely being a smartass.

"Let's goes and looks at them," Skwisgaar said, and he linked his arm in Toki's. Go and look at them they did. The dildos and vibrators and other things meant for sticking inside of you in your lonesome were spread across two racks and lined up neatly by size; Toki started at the miniscule ones made to look like other things for concealment (his favorite was one disguised as lipstick that really ended up looking like a dog's dick) and made his way up to the comically large that made his ass hurt to look at. He enjoyed the colors, at least—some were fleshy, some black, and others were neon.

"The bright colored ones remind me of popsicles," he mused, scratching his chin. He was bent over beside Skwisgaar, also bent, to look at the ones on the middle shelf, which were all a similar size and organized in surprisingly sufficient rainbow.

"If you ams wantingks me to makes a suckingks joke, I ams not goingks to," Skwisgaar said. "I ams more high class than dat."

"Damns it," Toki said. He nudged Skwisgaar's shoulder, playful, hoping that that could become a thing between them. He was delighted when Skwisgaar nudged back, and they took turns shoving each other more aggressively, accumulating in Skwisgaar pushing Toki against the rack of didoes. A few fell to the floor; Toki cursed and Skwisgaar bent over to replace them, sniggering. After that they made their way to the more extreme toys, the ones that Toki weren't sure of their use or purpose, intimidating and big.

"Their specialties ams BDSM," Skwisgaar explained. He picked up a body harness by a single finger. "The other store downtown, their specialties ams costumes. My thoughts am that dis would be more fun."

Toki snatched the harness from Skwisgaar and held it in both hands, twisting it around to examine it. It was the display one; the actual ones for sale were stacked in plastic bags ready for purchase. "Kinky," Toki offered, and he handed the harness back to Skwisgaar.

"Indeed." Skwisgaar placed the harness back down. He picked up a ball gag and tossed it at Toki; they played catch with it back-and-forth for a few minutes, Toki throwing it underhanded to get the most height, Skwisgaar aiming for Toki's mouth. Toki opened his mouth and caught it between his teeth to humor Skwisgaar, and then spat it out and handed it to him to put away. They made their way through the back of the store, fucking around with the various peculiarities, Skwisgaar having to explain to Toki what a few things were. Toki found it all amusing and some of the things mildly arousing, though he didn't mention that part. They grew bored of the back, which they realized had a small selection after you pick through everything individually and the novelty wears off, and headed back to the front.

Toki flipped through the porn magazines and found vintage Playboys, way overpriced, that he sort of wanted to buy, more for the fact that they were vintage Playboys than for the naked women hiding between the pages. Skwisgaar saw him lingering and asked, "You sees somethingks you wants?"

"Fuck no, my parents would actually kill me," Toki said as he flipped through the pages of one from the seventies absentmindedly. "No joke. I would be dead. These ams pretty cool, though."

Skwisgaar took it from Toki and held it sideways, flipping through each individual page quickly. "Eh," he said. He handed it back to Toki and walked off to study the different flavored lubes and condoms. Toki placed the Playboy back and went to join him. "Your favorite flavor?" Skwisgaar asked him, hands behind his back and head turned towards Toki.

Toki thought for a second. "I like candy," he said. "So, fruity flavors. Cherry, like this." He indicated a box. Also present were themed condoms (Toki enjoyed the little tuxedo ones) and with specialties, like extra ribbed or for the extra-large. Skwisgaar plucked the box of cherry flavored ones from its neighbors and walked over to the cash register. The girl did not bother to take her feet down while she made the transaction, taking Skwisgaar's money and asking him if he wanted a bag (no—he slid them into his pocket) before marking the exchange in a notebook and returning her attention to her magazine.

They exited the store to find that the sun had set though it was not quite legitimately dark yet, a kind of bluish tone settling everything. Instead of putting his arm around him Skwisgaar took Toki's hand, locking their fingers, and Toki's heart missed a few beats. They resumed walking and talking and Toki's knuckles occasionally brushed against Skwisgaar's thigh, which consistently electrified him.

"So, de second part ams not too far," Skwisgaar said. He squeezed Toki's hand to get his attention. Toki had neglected to continue on the conversation, caught up in the moments and letting them go by without further discussion, and he felt badly about that.

"What is it?" Toki asked. He was doing the absent-minded thumb-circling thing again, over and over, getting used to holding hands. They did not attract many stares at all, and Toki felt tranquil, like he was amongst the proper people to be amongst and having a great time, which he was.

"Sayingks dat would ruins de surprise," Skwisgaar said, and he clucked his tongue at Toki, shaking his head. Toki grinned, looking down at the sidewalk and their respective shoes before making eye contact again.

"I'm impatient," Toki whined, and he attempted to do a puppy-dog face at Skwisgaar, but it just made him laugh and lean over to twist his hair with his other hand again.

"You ams such a child," Skwisgaar said as he smoothed Toki's hair back in place. "It ams endearing, I guesses."

Toki shrugged and swatted Skwisgaar's hand away, combing his fingers through his hair. "I'm only two years younger," he reminded Skwisgaar. He held two fingers up from the hand that was not holding Skwisgaar's to emphasize his point.

"What year ams you in in school?" They turned a corner onto a somewhat busy street, cars driving past and a significant more amount of people walking. Toki observed everybody, the way that they were dressed and whom they were with and what they held, and continued to remind himself how much he loved the atmosphere.

"10th grade," Toki said. "I'm a sophomore. I have two years of school after this one left, and then college, if I go to it."

"School ams dildoes," Skwisgaar said. He stopped Toki in front of a restaurant—Toki guessed Italian by the smell, the olive decals and the name, Sergio's. Skwisgaar opened the door for Toki with one arm and did not let go of his hand, letting Toki pass through first and following behind him. Toki felt sort of like a girl, but in a good way, in a being taken care of and being protected way, that he liked. The restaurant was larger than he thought it would be and they were seated at a table by a window, round and high-topped with regal chairs. Sergio's was mood lit with dark-paneled walls and maroon accents, making Toki feel warmer inside than he already had, and their waiter (named Giovanni) was very official in his black pants and white shirt. He left Skwisgaar and Toki alone to decide on drinks and promised to be back in five minutes.

"There ams dis Scandinavian place down here, also," Skwisgaar said as he perused the menu, "but I thinks dat would be an insults to ours heritage. Georgey boy says dis place ams very good. He ams an eighth Italian and ams very particular about his Italian food."

"I like Italian," Toki said. "Who doesn't?" His eyes went up and down the menu. He did not know what most of the items were, strange names with double consonants in loopy font, but the prices were high and the pictures of the food on the menu gorgeous, so Toki was excited to eat here. He eventually found something he recognized and knew he liked.

"Uncultured peoples, I presumes," Skwisgaar said. He set his menu down gently. Skwisgaar had initially sat down with excellent, straight posture, and then began to wilt, continuously leaning more in. "I ams gettingks de veal. Ams you done decidingks?"

"Fettuccini alfredo," Toki said. He set his menu down as well. "Water to drink. This is very nice, Skwisgaar." He leaned in as well.

"Ams you surprised?" Skwisgaar reclined in his chair and put his arms over one another in front of him, lightly dragging his finger around on the tabletop. Toki mirrored him, drawing his own fingers around in wider circles until they eventually found Skwisgaar, and locked their index fingers. Under the table he nudged Skwisgaar with his foot and made eye contact.

"I had low expectations," Toki said. Skwisgaar's lips and interlocked index finger twitched just the slightest, and he nudged Toki back. "This is my first date, after all." Toki curled his finger and crumpled his nose, again, deliberately being a smartass.

"Really? I thinks dat de girls ams all over a guy likes you," Skwisgaar said. He scanned Toki up and down; Toki felt modest and vulnerable, though not violated. He was wearing a plain white shirt with a short-sleeve, checkered button up over that, and cargo shorts, not a very impressive outfit at all, small sections of his hair falling over his shoulders naturally.

"They don't care about me," Toki said, shrugging. "Well—there was this one girl, but she was weird. It's okay, though, because I don't care about them."

"Yous ams gay, ja?" Skwisgaar asked. He nudged Toki under the table, the toe of his boot hitting Toki's calf. Toki hopped in his seat, just a little bit. "Just an assumpktions."

Toki nodded. "Recently gay, ja," he said.

Skwisgaar laughed. "I ams not caringks," he said. "If it ams hot and it has a hole I will fucks it. It ams rare, though, that I takes it on a date. Yous should feel specials."

"I feels special," Toki said. He met Skwisgaar's eyes and smiled.

"I ams not, however, goingks to gets sentimentals about it," Skwisgaar said. "Tonight ams an excepktions because I ams tryingks to makes a good impression on it. It ams not often I acts like dis." He pulled Toki's hand in farther and properly held it on top of the table, finding Toki's other under the table and holding it on top of Toki's knee.

"Oh, I believes you," Toki said. "I normally talk more."

Skwisgaar chuckled. "I ams sure dat you does. Does I makes you nervous?"

"A little," Toki admitted, casting his eyes downward.

"Dat's cute," Skwisgaar said. The statement had the condescending air to it that made Toki snap his head up and curl his nails into Skwisgaar's hands, tilting his head and smiling. Skwisgaar kicked him under the table. In return, Toki stuck his tongue out at him and let go of Skwisgaar's hands, picking up the menu again.

"Are we getting desert?" Toki asked, flipping to the back. Just the descriptions of the sweets alone made his mouth water and threatened to send him into a diabetic coma.

"No," Skwisgaar said. "I ams not rich, and we ams not havingks the time."

"Okay," Toki said, and he set the menu down again. Skwisgaar sparked his curiosity with the lack of time comment, but Toki did not have the opportunity to ask about it as Giovanni returned to take their orders. Skwisgaar ordered for Toki, which Toki found sort of annoying and appealing at the same time. He felt that way about most of Skwisgaar's actions, actually, though the appealing generally outweighed the annoying. When the waiter left Skwisgaar took Toki's hand again and Toki spelt his name out on Skwisgaar's hand with his thumb, last name and all.

"Dat ams a girly thing to do," Skwisgaar said. "The thumb thing." Toki stopped; Skwisgaar sent him a look. "Did I says to stop?"

"You said it was girly," Toki said, but he started doing it again, returning to circles as opposed to letters. "I did it—fuck, what's the word—naturlig."

Skwisgaar shrugged. "You ams a natural."

Toki did not quite know what that was referring to, but he let the statement lay at rest, and took the small break in conversation as a chance to observe his surroundings, which he had not yet gotten the chance to do. Being early evening the restaurant was filled, every table occupied, mostly by heterosexual couples. Nobody paid attention to Skwisgaar and Toki; they blended in, another two average faces in the clientele, although he did see women snatch glances at them periodically, presumably at Skwisgaar. Toki felt that familiar pride swell in him—he wanted them to look, to look at him and what he had, and he curled his fingers tighter around Skwisgaar, who tightened his grip back.

They chatted idly while they waited for their food, mostly about what restaurants and food they respectively liked, which turned into a debate over whether Norwegian or Swedish food was better. Skwisgaar was cut off in the middle of a long tirade about the values of Swedish cuisine by the arrival of their food, of which there was a lot, and the abundant smell scrumptious. Skwisgaar cut his veal into tiny bite sized pieces before placing each one individually in his mouth and chewing the appropriate amount of times; Toki shoveled his fettuccini into his mouth and lopped up remaining sauce with the complimentary breadsticks before thrusting them into his mouth as well.

"This food is amazing," Toki said at one point, taking a break from slamming food down his throat to drink some water. He had two lemon wedges perched on the rim of his glass, having asked for Skwisgaar's, being a fan of lemon. He picked one up and sucked from it.

"I hopes so, for dis price," Skwisgaar said. He had made his way through half his veal and had finished his accompanying roasted green beans and garlic mashed red potatoes, whereas Toki had maybe two forkfuls of pasta and no breadsticks left. "My food ams very good as well," he said, and he speared another piece of veal as if to make his point.

They finished their food and Skwisgaar paid, leaving a generous tip. Toki was full and sleep, holding Skwisgaar's hand languidly, if such a thing was possible. It had dropped in temperature outside, Florida behaving in its trademark bipolar way, but it wasn't too chilly. It was fully dark and the throng of people had dissolved to just a little bustle. Skwisgaar lead Toki deeper into downtown, closer to the waterfront that they were destined to hit eventually. Carbohydrates in Toki's stomach made him resistant to conversation and he dared to put his head on Skwisgaar's shoulder; the lack of reaction from Skwisgaar allowed him to keep him there.

"Ams you tired?" Skwisgaar asked. "Likes a baby?"

"Heavy food," Toki mumbled. His eyes were closed, completely reliant on Skwisgaar to guide him. He stayed like this only for a few minutes before taking his head off of his shoulder as his food began to digest and he began to feel more awake, the walking helping. "What time is it? I don't have a phone. Or a watch."

Skwisgaar took his out from one of his pockets and read the time. "It ams about nine o'clock," he said as he returned it to his pants. "We ams right on time."

"For what?"

"You ams goingks to see."

They were not in the nicest part of downtown, leering men crowding on street corners and dubiously dressed women flocking towards them, but Toki did not feel unsafe. He usually never did downtown as he went with Nathan, Pickles, Murderface and Dick, and Nathan's bulk alone scared people off, in addition to Murderface looking ready to go on a killing spree any second and actually carrying a knife on him at all times. Pickles knew a lot of people too, enough that people knew not to fuck with him because you'd be fucking with a whole mess of people you didn't want to get involved with; same with Dick, though people commonly hated Dick. Skwisgaar did not have the same menacing factors as Toki's usual gang, but there was something in his height and the way he carried himself that made him intimidating, even if he was on the slender side. There was something comforting in holding hands and knocking knuckles against each other's hips anyway, the physical connection and affection enough to make Toki feel protected.

They surpassed the sketchier part and hit the heart of downtown, more people there in anticipation of the nightlife, trendy expensive boutiques and bars on every avenue. This part of downtown was lit festively for Halloween, kick-off parties and groups of people in half-costumes every other block, and Toki's post-dinner sleepiness dissipated as the aura excited him. Skwisgaar led him through complicated mazes of sidewalks and people until they eventually hit another sketchy part, but a place Toki was familiar with. They were near Dick's neighborhood in the part that was near the water, the lights not as bright and the noise fading, but they were still close to the hub. Skwisgaar took Toki off the main path through downtown and to an alleyway that opened up onto a small beach, a break in the seawall, totally deserted.

"Businesses, dey dies down here," Skwisgaar explained. He kicked aside an empty beer bottle at the mouth of the beach and carefully led Toki down the steep slope to the flat part of the sand. It was not very big, maybe ten feet between beginning and the sea and ten feet wide, but there was enough room for Skwisgaar and Toki to sit comfortably side-by-side and so they did, arms interlocking behind their backs as they propped themselves up on the heels of their hands. "So nobody comes down here. Perfects for smokings and watching de fireworks." Skwisgaar took the carton of cigarettes back out and lit one of the joints, handing it to Toki.

Toki inhaled; he had forgotten about the fireworks, a weekly staple of his city's downtown, something people came to see. They were normally pretty lame and short, but as tonight was Halloween's Eve, they were bound to actually be pretty cool and extensive. If they stood at an angle on the beach, they'd be able to see them and definitely hear them. "They starts at eleven and ends at twelve," Skwisgaar said as Toki passed him the joint; he handled it like a pro and inhaled sharply. "Plenty of time to gets you back, ja?"

"Ja," Toki said. He took the joint and inhaled again. "Fuck." Skwisgaar laughed.

"Is dis de only drug you do?" Skwisgaar asked as Toki passed it to him again.

"Yeah," Toki said, nodding his head and inhaling again before tipping his head back to exhale long and hard, feeling his chest heave as he watched smoke disappear into the stars. "I used to drink, but I'm not a fun drunk, so the guys don't let me. Drinking is more of Nathan's thing. And Murderface's, if he's not having a straightedge week. Dick—he's our dealer—he does coke. A lot of coke. Coke off of strippers' tits coke. Pickles does everything, he likes acid and weed a lot, though, he says they're his favorites. He goes on kicks, though, like he'll get really into, like, bath salts for a while." He took another drag.

Skwisgaar nodded and accepted the joint when Toki passed it back. "You ams not a fun drunk?"

"They say I'm sloppy and violent," Toki explained. He was still looking at the stars; he took his arms from behind him and laid flat on his back. Skwisgaar joined him, Toki watching him fall to his back in his peripheral vision, and entwined his fingers with Toki. "I don't know, because I don't remember things when I drink."

"Ah," Skwisgaar said. He handed the joint back to Toki. "I understands. So you only does de maryjuhwanna."

"Yep," Toki said. "The guys, they make fun of me for it. They say it's not brutal to only smoke weed." He examined the joint, fat between his fingers, and took another long drag. He held it in for too long and coughed.

"Well, it ams really not," Skwisgaar said. He bought Toki's hand up to his chest, still holding it, and let it rest on top of his heart; Toki could feel his pulse. "But I ams in a grunge band, what does I knows about beingks brutal."

"Grunge isn't bad," Toki said. He found the joint, which had somehow ended up burning a hole in his shirt on his stomach, and took another drag. He did not cough this time. "Fuckface Academy is bad."

"I'll smoke to dat," Skwisgaar said, and he did. He blew a smoke ring afterwards; Toki watched it fade away.

"How do you that?" He asked Skwisgaar, turning his head to face Skwisgaar. Skwisgaar did the same, their faces inches apart. Toki took it upon himself to memorize Skwisgaar's eyes—the color, the starburst pattern around the pupils, the shape, everything—and began, staring intently. He was distracted when Skwisgaar started to speak, and decided to memorize the lips instead, for they looked inviting.

"I ams not able to explains," Skwisgaar said. "My English amns't good enough and it ams too hard to try to in Swedish. Sorry, littles Toki."

Toki shrugged, or shrugged the best he could, as he was laying down. "It's cool, is all," he said. Skwisgaar still keeping his hand on Skwisgaar's heart, Toki felt Skwisgaar's pulse, and as he progressively got higher and they continued to talk he felt his entire body throb with every beat of Skwisgaar's heart. Perhaps the whole thing was cliché—getting stoned on a beach under the stars and engaging in the deep conversation you can only have when you're stoned—but Toki loved it, loved every second, and as he became one with Skwisgaar's heartbeat he came closer and closer to a more profound understanding of something he was not absolutely sure of. He felt content in every nook, cranny and corner of his body, a light blanket of bliss settling over his being. It was the type of serenity you can only experience with another person, and he dared not voice this to Skwisgaar, not yet, afraid of scrutiny of his serendipity. He felt connected enough in the moment to know that it was shared, not needing words as confirmation.

Skwisgaar was right; not another person even came close to infringing upon their little beach, the whole area devoid of other humans, though the beer bottles and cigarette butts proved that other people knew of the place. They smoked until they found it unnecessary, and Toki limited himself, for he found that he did not need that large of a high to accompany such an already soothing evening. Skwisgaar had a high tolerance, though the stuff was pretty high quality, better than Dick's shit by far. Toki thought of asking Skwisgaar for his dealer and decided that would be a personal betrayal against his friends—they smoked shit weed because it was Dick's shit weed, not because they liked it. In his state, Toki found this to be such a pure, beautiful expression of friendship, the sacrifice of quality to preserve the dignity of a comrade. He expressed this to Skwisgaar, who agreed that it was simply the right and noble thing to do, and thanked Toki for the compliment about the quality of his weed.

Eleven o'clock rolled around and the rumble of fireworks startled them, sending them bolting up and knocking them out of the conversation they were having, which was something about Einstein being in therapy. They scrambled to stand and to look towards the display, grabbing each other's hands immediately and simultaneously, the simple gesture sending fireworks through Toki himself for the second time that day. They watched in awe for a handful of minutes, Toki whispering various phrases that mostly consisted of wowee and Skwisgaar grunting in agreement, until Skwisgaar whipped Toki around to face him. He became gentle then, tender even, cupping Toki's face on both sides before leaning down to press his lips, gingerly, against Toki's. Toki closed his eyes and felt the sensation of falling, crashing through the layers of Earth until he hit the core and melted. Skwisgaar pulled away and Toki's eyelids fluttered opened; they made brief eye contact, and then Toki sprang forward, wrapping his arms around Skwisgaar's neck and kissing him at full force. Skwisgaar began to move his lips against Toki's, the feeling of which (vaguely jellyfish in nature) caught him by surprise, but he mirrored the motions quickly and readily.

They kissed for the entire hour of the fireworks—Toki kept his arms where they were and eventually knotted his fingers up in Skwisgaar's hair, feeling the back of his head, and snaked his other hand under Skwisgaar's shirt, stroking his collarbone. Skwisgaar moved up and down Toki's back and at his waist, though he didn't try to go under Toki's shirt (which he was grateful for—he would've had to have stopped and explain the scars, which he didn't want to do) or to his ass (which he wasn't grateful for—or maybe he was—he didn't actually know) and played with the ends of Toki's hair. Toki eventually mastered the art of the jellyfish kiss and took over as the dominate partner. At the half-hour mark they sunk into the sand, Toki sitting in Skwisgaar's lap, and Skwisgaar began to French kiss him, which was not something Toki was able to master in half an hour. He mostly tried to repeat what was done to him, but Skwisgaar did some masterful things with his tongue that Toki had no idea how to replicate, and eventually he succumbed. He found he liked to lick at Skwisgaar, licking his bottom lip, his top lip, and even around them, playful and curious. Skwisgaar encouraged this by parting his lips and leaving them motionless. He laughed into Toki's mouth a few times as Toki did his experimental licking, which only provoked Toki, and as a response he sucked Skwisgaar's bottom lip between his teeth. Skwisgaar pulled back from that and moved to mouthing at Toki's neck, tucking his hair behind his ear, moving around to the back of Toki's neck and pushing all of his hair over his shoulder. Toki appreciated this, for if he was to get a hickey, it'd be better to get one in a place where his parents would not see. Toki was rendered incapable of motion throughout the process; it was all he could do to stroke at Skwisgaar's skin under the neckline of his shirt and lick at the crevice between neck and shoulder occasionally, feeling dazed. Eventually Skwisgaar pulled back to kiss Toki again, gentler and slow this time, pulling Toki out of his dazed state and reminding him where he was and what he was doing. Toki sped and roughened it up until they were at a sufficient pace once more and when Skwisgaar went to start Frenching again, Toki nibbled at his lips, which escalated into a war that Toki was eager to fight. By the time the fireworks ended and they broke apart Toki's lips were swollen and numb, his hair a tangled mess, and he was hard as fuck, aching.

He batted his eyelids sleepily until he was able to keep them open and picked a lock of Skwisgaar's hair up between his fingers. "Hello," he said, smiling.

"Hellos," Skwisgaar said. His voice was breathy, as opposed to Toki's sleepy one.

"That was really cool," Toki said. He was still turning Skwisgaar's hair over in his fingers, still in Skwisgaar's lap; Skwisgaar had propped himself up on his elbows after Toki pulled away.

"Ja," Skwisgaar said. "See? I told yous. Yous ams a natural."

"Oh?" Toki said. He got off of Skwisgaar's lap, erection subsiding enough that he could stand. Skwisgaar followed him and held his hand before leaning down to give him the softest kiss of the night; it would be too exhausting to do anything else at that point, and even an insult to the past hour to try and reproduce it when neither of them were ready.

"Ja," Skwisgaar said again. He took Toki's other hands in his, face serious now, and he once again looked behind Toki instead of at him. "Toki. It woulds be a shame if I did not asks you dis after dat."

"What?" Toki asked. He cocked his head, still fuzzy from the kissing and full of half-wishes to lunge at Skwisgaar again.

"You ams going to make me says it?" Skwisgaar asked. Then, he groaned and turned his head, making eye contact with Toki. "I would likes it if you belongs to me and I belongs to you and nobody else. A relationships. I thinks in America they says, wills you be mine boyfriend?"

"Oh! Yes," Toki said. He leaned up to kiss Skwisgaar again, licking a little at his lips, if only to express his joy. "I am happy."

Skwisgaar chuckled a bit and then checked the time on his phone. "Shits. We needs to go."

Toki pouted and found himself unable to form words otherwise. They departed from the beach with its still water reflecting moonlight and white sand littered with debris, Toki sad to see it go, though he had the feeling he'd be back before long. He followed Skwisgaar through the winding path of downtown—there were even more people than before out now, but their features and the light and the noise blurred to Toki—and back to the festival grounds, which was deserted but still open for some unknown reason. Toki kissed Skwisgaar at the gate, having spent the last five minutes in silence just staring at his lips, and tried to go for more but found himself without the energy to. He was surprised by how much just that hour took out of him, like some sort of vampirism life source sucking-out process had occurred. He was still pretty high, too. Skwisgaar held his hand until they got to the front of the stage, where Toki saw his friends standing in a circle. Murderface had lost his jacket and was wearing a different shirt than before, something three sizes too small and pink; Nathan and Pickles were huddled in conversation, and Dick was nowhere to be found. Nathan noticed Toki and Skwisgaar first, as Pickles and Murderface were turned away from them, and Nathan tapped Pickles on the shoulder and pointed.

"Hey, guys," Pickles said. He bounced over to them, still energetic somehow. He was wearing sunglasses that pushed up his dreads, at midnight, for unknown reasons. "How was your date?"

"Amazing!" Skwisgaar released Toki's hand; he fell into Pickles. "He bought cherry condoms, he eats like a lady, we got high and he gave me a hickey, I think, you should check." He gestured to the back of his own neck.

Pickles moved aside Toki's hair. "Yep, there's a hickey," he said. Toki swayed out of his arms and stood beside him. Pickles shot Skwisgaar a look; Skwisgaar shrugged.

"It ams all true," he said. He walked over to Toki and took both of his hands, steadying him. "Looks, next weekend, meets me at de mall, de food court, Saturday, noon. Gots it?" Toki nodded; Skwisgaar let go of one of his hands and used a single finger to tilt his chin, giving him a soft, chaste kiss. "You gots it, at least," he said, looking at Pickles. Pickles nodded.

"Well, we have to get going," Pickles said. Skwisgaar nodded and let go of Toki's other hand; this time, Toki did not fall, but remained steady on his feet. The absence of physical contact made him sad, however. "I hope you had a good time, too."

"I has a great time. I ams seeingks him again, ams I not?" Skwisgaar said. "We ams together now. Sees you guys later." He waved at Nathan and Murderface and then took off; Toki watched him go, his elegant figure gliding away, until he disappeared into the night like so much of their smoke and thoughts. Yeah, he was definitely still high.

"Well, you're sloppy," Pickles said, looking at Toki. "We're barely gonna make Nathan's curfew, I hope you know." He put an arm around Toki, which was weird and wrong in comparison to Skwisgaar's presence across Toki's shoulder for some of the night, and began to walk in the direction of the nearest parking lot. Nathan and Murderface fell in step along beside him. "And Halloween is tomorrow. We need to get you to bed."

"What's with the shirt?" Toki asked, gesturing to Murderface. He was sleepy, sure, but he could walk, and he pushed Pickles's arm off of him.

"We'll exchange stories of our nights later," Pickles said. "You can sleep on the car ride home and maybe you'll sober up enough."

"'Kay," Toki said. The walk to Nathan's truck was brief, and Toki fell asleep immediately once he was sitting inside—he thought he saw Pickles rolling his eyes in annoyance and leaning back from the front seat to buckle Toki's seatbelt for him before he fell asleep. He woke to a similar sight, Pickles slapping his face as he undid his seatbelt, and stumbled out of the truck, to Nathan's house, up Nathan's stairs, and into Nathan's room before he curled up under the windowsill and fell asleep.

He slept dreamless and deeply, feeling rejuvenated when he woke up. His high had worn off but he was hungry, and happy, and warm—there was a blanket thrown across him, probably by Pickles, who was asleep in Nathan's bed against the wall, distinguishable only by the mop of dreads peeking from a mass of black comforter. Murderface was snoring in the computer chair and Nathan was nowhere to be found, but Toki heard water running in the upstairs bathroom, and he figured that that must be where Nathan was. Toki was not tired enough to go back to sleep so he crawled out from under the windowsill and stretched, basking in the morning light. He walked over to the computer and shook the mouse, carefully avoiding Murderface, still in his three-sizes-too-small hot-pink V-neck, to check the time. 12:30 P.M., shit; unsurprisingly, Murderface had been on a weapons dealer's website. Toki wondered what time the other guys passed out at as he went back over to sitting below the window sill.

Nathan reentered the room with a towel wrapped around his waist a few minutes later, unsurprised to see Toki up. "What time did you guys pass out at?" Toki asked as Nathan went over to retrieve clothes from his closet.

"Murderface was still online when Pickles and I went to sleep around three," Nathan said. He selected a black shirt and jeans from the closet, reaching in a cheap plastic set of drawers for a pair of boxers. "I woke up first, whoa."

"Yeah," Toki said. "Whoa." He ran a hand through his hair, which was knotted and surely a mess to look at. Considering what he was going as for Halloween, he decided to leave it that way. "Are we just going to let them sleep?"

Nathan shrugged. "Not much else to do." He exited the room with his clothes in hand. Toki listened to Nathan pad around upstairs, getting dressed, combing his hair, brushing his teeth, and then go downstairs, presumably to eat. After neither Pickles nor Murderface gave any inclination of waking up soon Toki picked himself up and headed to the bathroom. He brushed his teeth with the toothbrush he kept over at Nathan's house and rinsed his face off; his eyes were still a little red, but it worked with the day. He went downstairs and made himself a bowl of cereal, eating at the kitchen table alone and lost in thought. Mostly he allowed himself to remember the bliss of the previous night, particularly the hour he spent on their makeshift beach. He finished his cereal and felt productive enough to wash his own dishes for once. When he went back into Nathan's room he saw that Pickles had woken up and was propped against Nathan's headboard, texting somebody.

"Mornin' sunshine," Pickles said, looking from his phone towards Toki, his thumbs continuing to move. "When we gonna talk about last night, huh?"

Toki walked over to Nathan's bed and sat on it, swinging his legs up on it. "When you want to, I guess," he said, lounging on Nathan's mattress. It was not often that Toki got the luxury of being on Nathan's bed, and he reveled in it, for it was a fucking awesome bed.

Pickles put his phone down beside him. "Well, when you left, the guys and I decided to just wander around. We got gelato, too, Murderface made such a mess. Anyhow. That shit got boring fast so we went to Dick's and had an impromptu party. Murderface over there exchanged clothes with a stripper. Nathan got a lap dance. I got her sunglasses." Pickles gestured to the sunglasses on Nathan's bedside table. "After that, we went back to the festival grounds. Pretty average night. I showed you mine, now you show me yours." At this point Nathan reentered his room and went over to begin kicking Murderface awake. Murderface did not budge nor wake up, no matter how hard Nathan kicked his shins.

Toki put his hands on his belly and inhaled deeply, shutting his eyes and trying to remember. "You guys left, we hung out with his band for a couple minutes, he took me to Lilies, which was a sex shop—"

"Wait, hold up, what?" Pickles leaned in towards Toki, eyes wide and blinking rapidly. "He took you to a sex shop? I don't know if I like that. Do you like that, Nathan?" He looked over to Nathan.

Nathan stopped kicking Murderface momentarily. "No, I do not like that, Pickles." He returned to kicking Murderface and took the chair and swiveled it around; Murderface slept on.

Pickles, satisfied, leaned back again. "What type of a guy takes his first date to a fucking sex shop? Is this where he got the cherry condoms?"

"Yeah," Toki said. "We looked at dildos and played catch with ball gags." He patted his belly in a beat, avoiding Pickles's eyes.

Nathan chuckled and Pickles sent him a look; Nathan stopped chuckling. "Go on, Toki," Pickles said, returning his attention to Toki and his story and making a waving hand motion.

"Then we went to a fancy Italian restaurant, I think it was called Sergio's, he had veal and I had fettuccini alfredo Then we went to this little empty beach type thing and talked and smoked until the fireworks and we watched the fireworks and kissed and stuff." Toki faltered at the end and looked away from Pickles, face getting hot.

"Stuff," Pickles said, monotone. "Explain the stuff. I've seen your hickey, kid."

"God, Mom," Toki mumbled, certain that his face was red. He was looking intently at Nathan's sheets and the little ridges they made in their crumpled state. "We made out for, like, an hour. Oh, and he asked me out."

"You're such a girl," Nathan said. He'd stopped kicking Murderface, having given up, and was reclining against his computer desk, glaring at Murderface with his arms crossed.

"Well," Pickles said. His phone buzzed and he picked it up, resuming his texting. "You had a very interesting night. A sex shop. Oh, and Nathan, Charles said he's having a party tonight. I said we couldn't make it."

"It was cool," Toki said. He was still making eye contact with the sheets as opposed to Pickles. "I'd never been in one before."

Pickles sighed. "If you say so. Now, if you excuse me, I have to start prepping for Halloween." He climbed out of bed—Toki noticed at this point he was shirtless, though wearing jeans and socks—and walked by Murderface, poking him in the back of his neck with his fingernail. Murderface jerked awake, breathing heavy, and Nathan stared in wonder alternating between Murderface and Pickles, who sashayed out of the room and flicked his wrist, dismissing the awe of his actions.

Nathan, Murderface and Toki killed time before trick-or-treating, which would begin at six, by watching shitty scary movies in the basement. Murderface pretended not to be scared at the jump scares; Toki tracked the plots and reveled in the gore; Nathan enjoyed the gore alongside Toki and consumed the entire bowl of popcorn. Pickles killed the time by getting ready, which really did take him all day. Murderface never had to dress up for Halloween, being naturally scary in his normal attire, and Toki was going as a mental patient, so all he had to do was change into a pair of scrubs he'd splattered with red paint a couple weeks ago and smear some charcoal make-up under his eyes before they left for the evening. Nathan was going as a football player, meaning he had to change into his uniform, but Pickles took it one step above. He was going as a cheerleader, a proper girl cheerleader, with skirts and pom-poms and everything. So, at five-thirty, Nathan, Murderface, and Toki stood at the bottom of the stairs, tapping their feet, each in their appropriate dress, waiting for Pickles to emerge.

Pickles made a frighteningly good girl, with his naturally slender shape and slightly hourglass figure. He'd put his dreads in low pigtails, done his make-up but kept his weak attempt at facial hair, had pom-poms, a costume he'd ordered off of Amazon, tennis shoes and ruffled socks. He made a dramatic entrance, striking poses down the stairs, and congregated to Nathan to cling onto his arm and lift a leg up, dying of laughter. "This was a good idea," he said.

They stockpiled into Nathan's truck, Pickles placing his pom-poms on the console, and Nathan drove them to the richest neighborhood in town where the high school students generally hung out at Halloween. They trick-or-treated with cheap pillowcases and made a game out of who could scare the children the most—Murderface won just by existing, though kids looked at Pickles strangely and Pickles growled back, gnashing his teeth like a dog. They did not talk of the previous day, nor of Skwisgaar, nor of anything, really, as they went through the streets and knocked on doors. Some people turned them away, telling them they were too old, and they flicked them off and kicked their jack-o-lanterns in response. Nathan made out with some chick in a failed attempt at a vaguely offensive, appropriating Native American costume that was mostly just her barefoot and wearing scanty burlap; Pickles was mistaken for a girl, and subsequently hit on, three times, all by drunken guys similar in age to them. They ran into a couple people they knew—Rockzo and his crew being one of them, in their normal clothes and carrying candy in a baby carriage that Rockzo himself pushed, and Toki took extra caution to avoid being seen by Emmy—and made small-talk. At some point during the night he'd absentmindedly wiped his face with the back of his hand and smeared make-up everywhere, though it kind of just added to the mental patient effect, according to Pickles. Murderface disappeared at one point and returned with an armful of illegal foreign candy, mostly Kinder chocolate and gummies in weird shapes. Toki took a bag of road-kill gummies and deposited them in his pillowcase. They amassed a nice size of candy and cashed in early, needing time to go to Nathan's house and prepare themselves for going home and for school in the morning. Toki forced himself to shower at Nathan's house, and though he felt insecure and vulnerable through the ordeal he felt better afterwards, and Toki got dressed in Nathan's bathroom feeling pretty content with the world—he'd avoided a weekend with his parents, he'd spent some nice quality time with his friends, and, oh, he'd attained himself a boyfriend.


	6. Toki's Gay Porn Thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my favorite chapter so far. I'm way too into writing out dates for Skwisgaar and Toki, and I'm also way too into this story, but that's a good thing, I swear.

"You're different. Dunno if I like it."

It was Wednesday, and under the guise of working on a history project, Toki was sitting at Nathan's bedroom window (having dragged his computer chair over) and looking at the garden gnomes lining the side of Nathan's neighbor's house. The college boys next door appeared to collect them, a variety of lawn ornaments in a neat line disappearing into the backyard; throughout the years Toki had seen one of the guys that lived there place a new one down every few weeks or so. It was just Toki and Pickles in the room then, Murderface out with Dick and Nathan having left to get snacks. Nachos, particularly; everybody had been in a nachos sort of mood. Pickles was sitting on the edge of the bed, one hand holding a fist of comforter and the other the neck of a bottle of vodka, knotting his feet in the part of the comforter hanging over the bed.

Toki shrugged and put his elbow on the windowsill and head in his hand. It was still hot, the transition into November not helping in the slightest, but the window was open and a slight breeze wafted past. It felt like summer though it was fall and Toki quickly lost track of what Pickles had said to him as he swam in his thoughts, smiling to himself. He remained like that until he felt a hand on his shoulder and the smell of cheap alcohol infiltrated his happy haze. He turned his head to see Pickles taking a long swig from his bottle of vodka, remove it from his lips and wipe his mouth with the back of his hand before throwing the empty bottle out the window and tightening his grip on Toki. "Seriously, douchebag. It's been, what, four days? And we haven't had an actual conversation with you."

Toki shrugged once again and returned his head to his hand, twisting his hair around with the other. "I'm mirthful," he said. The slight breeze twisted down the street and Toki could practically see the airy swirls of its essence as he watched deadening leaves rustle. He sighed, not from an area of stress and strain but from one of comfort and complacency.

Pickles patted him on the shoulder. "What a word," he said. "What a world." For a Wednesday afternoon Pickles was quite drunk. He had swept his dreadlocks into a ponytail behind his head and swaggered his way over to Nathan's closet, in which there was a mirror. He preened and patted his face, turned his head to look at his neck. "What if I got gauges," he said, tugging on an earlobe, "or a tattoo of Nathan's face on my ass. Right cheek." He smacked his ass, a hard sound reverberating throughout the room.

Toki made a vague hand motion and continued to look out the window. Two houses down the street an older-not elderly, but nearing retirement-couple was relaxing on their porch, the woman wearing a sun visor with a frilly drink in her hand, the man clad in sensible chinos and smoking a cigar. Toki wondered what the fuck they were doing, then let those thoughts disappear, feeling happy for these people instead. That was weird, even to him, and he crinkled his nose at himself.

"I think I'm going to jump out the window," Pickles said, continuing to preen in the mirror. He inspected his (stained, but otherwise okay) teeth. "Or maybe-goddamit Toki, you are not allowed to stop being friends with us just because you're getting laid by some Swedish douchebag guitar god!" Pickles turned from the mirror and threw his arms in the air. His speech was slurred, words slanting into each other and accent thick, but he made his point.

"He is very good at guitar," Toki said. Pickles groaned. He crumpled to the ground where he stood and began to beat his head against the floor. Toki continued to look out the window.

Nathan made a timely entrance into the room, cradling an impressive plate of nachos in his arms. He set the plate in the middle of the floor and folded himself Indian-style on the ground beside it, taking a handful of chips and eating them. "I had my mom make them," he said through a mouthful of tortilla and gooey cheese.

"Sweet, she makes the best ones," Pickles said, picking himself up and flocking to the plate. He sat down opposite Nathan and scooped a hearty amount of nachos into his hands, exasperation of moments past evaporated. "Toki, will you at least come here and eat some nachos with us?" He asked before cramming said nachos into his mouth, cheese splattering around his lips. Pickles was a noisy eater normally, but when drunk he was outright obnoxious.

"What's wrong with Toki?" Nathan asked. He held a nacho above his mouth like a Greek deity feeding themselves grapes and slowly lowered it in.

"He's mirthful," Pickles said. He shook his head, his dreadlocked ponytail swinging across his back. He slurped the cheese up around his lips.

"I don't know what that means," Nathan said.

"Happy," Toki said from the window. A bird had landed in a tree in Nathan's backyard and Toki had become mesmerized by it. It was just a pigeon, gray and with a small, squat body, hopping from branch to branch in search of something. Toki had named the bird Joy, mentally, and so he continued to watch Joy bounce around branches. "It means I'm happy."

"What's wrong with that?" Nathan asked, leaning in for another large scoop of nachos at the same time as Pickles.

"He's not talking," Pickles said. They met eyes over the plate of nachos.

"He just did." Nathan cocked his head and retreated from the plate with chips and cheese between his fingers and in his palms. Pickles sighed-definitely from a place of strain and stress-and grabbed some for himself.

"I mean-fuck it, these nachos are great." Pickles said.

Toki turned from the window to look at his friends. The picture of Nathan and Pickles he saw was one of total self-indulgence. Half the plate of nachos was gone, a quarter each in Nathan and Pickles's greedy stomachs, and they were relaxed in such ways-Nathan with his legs crossed, Pickles with them splayed to the side and propping himself up on his elbows-that they looked like kings, gods, noble figures, men of status and privilege, lazy rich guys, whatever. Toki felt above them, his happiness stemming from a place of a deeper meaning and understanding, but he still fled his chair to skid to his knees before the plate of nachos and began to eat some. He ate them directly out of his own hands. Nathan's mother truly did make them the best, after all.

After they finished the plate Nathan's parents left to run an errand and Pickles stumbled downstairs in search of more booze. Nathan looked at Toki, picked up the barren plate of nachos, said, "I better go make sure he doesn't fall and kill himself or something," and left after Pickles. Toki fell to his back on Nathan's floor and looked at the ceiling, eyes lidded in fullness and bliss, a natural high. He held his hand before him and turned it over, examining it, thinking about all the things this hand had touched, will touched, had done, will do. He felt poetic. He also felt vaguely horny, more so than the usual nag at the back of his mind reminding him that he is in his most virile and fertile years. Looking at his hand, thinking about his dick-he had an idea.

He crept out of Nathan's room and peered downstairs. Pickles and Nathan were not in the kitchen as far as he could see, but a cabinet was open, which meant that they had found Pickles some more booze and were elsewhere doing other things. Toki smiled and rushed back to Nathan's room, shutting the door behind him. He went to the window and dragged the computer chair back to the computer, sat in the chair, and shook the mouse to wake the computer up.

Toki did not get the chance to masturbate, or jack off, or jerk off, or whatever the fuck they felt like calling it that day, often. Or at all, really. Sometimes, if things were particularly bad, he would risk it in the shower at home, and he'd done it a few times at Nathan's already (and was pretty sure everybody in their group had regardless) so he did not feel weird about what he was about to do. Well, he did, but not because it was at Nathan's house. Toki didn't watch porn. Not because he didn't want to, but because he didn't get the opportunity. He couldn't do it at home, didn't know where to find it, and didn't even know what the fuck he was into. When he did get the chance to jack off, he normally returned to the memory of that pretty girl from church's pretty mouth formed around a song, and it got him off pretty well. Today, though, he had a mission.

He opened up Nathan's internet browser of choice and went to Google. In the search bar he typed gay porn, which was enough to excite him further and also fill him with trepidation. He clicked on the first result: a website called gaytube. Convenient. Once on the homepage of gaytube he found a video that seemed appealing, Straight Skaters Jerk Off. Relatable, at least in the fact that he was also a skater currently jerking off, and not too extreme. He didn't think he was ready for anything more, at this point. He relaxed in his chair, unbuttoned the top of his jeans and snuck a hand into his boxers, fully erect at that point from the idea of the situation alone. He had left the window open, though he didn't think anyone would be able to see him.

The video was two minutes and thirty-four seconds long and at the minute mark he could feel himself getting close, the rising feeling, the build-up, and he bit hard enough into his lip to draw blood (which, to be honest, only managed to escalate the pleasure he was feeling), and he was just so, so fucking close when the door to Nathan's room swung open. Toki froze mid-stroke and did not dare ot turn around or even move, the video rolling on in front of him, switching between shots of a myriad of boys in a similar position as Toki, whose dick was still in his hand and still hard.

"Um..Toki?" That was Pickles's voice, but he could practically hear the silence of Nathan, and felt a fourth presence in the room. He really hoped that was Murderface, or a ghost, or even Charles, and not one of Nathan's parents.

Toki's prayers were answered when the fourth presence yelled, "What the fuck? What schort of welcome isch thisch?" The sound of Murderface's lisp completely wilted Toki's cock and he finally got the sense to take his hand away and tuck himself back into his boxers, pull his jeans up and zip and button them. His face was hot and red and not in the good way it had been just mere seconds ago. He licked the blood from his lips, running his tongue over the sensitive sore and pressing hard in a futile attempt to make it stop bleeding. In front of him the video was almost done. He could barely stand to look at it, but it didn't occur to him to turn it off until Nathan cleared his throat.

Toki closed out of the window and folded his hands in his lap, head cast downward and hair covering his face. His back was towards the other guys, who hadn't moved, collected in the doorway, and Toki wasn't about to, either. The only sound in the room was Murderface's sputtering of half-formed words, accusations, and insults.

"Uh, Murderface, I think you're actually too freaked out by this," Nathan said, finally cutting the silence.

Pickles laughed. "Gotta agree," he said, and Toki heard his approaching footsteps, then felt his hand clasp his back. Toki flinched and Pickles took his hand away. "We all knew Toki here was gay. We've met his boyfriend. Fuck, we've seen 'em kiss. Anyways. Raise your hand if you haven't jacked off exactly where Toki is sittin' right now." There was not the sound of somebody's hand being raised, and Toki felt disgusted when Pickles put it that way. "See? Toki's just the first one to get caught. This is funny. This is a funny situation. Laugh, you douchebags." And they did; Nathan and Pickles's genuine, Murderface's nervous, and Toki even began to giggle. It was sort of funny. He guessed. He raised his head and looked at Pickles, meeting eyes and smiling.

Pickles pulled Toki out of the chair with his free hand-there was another bottle of vodka in the other one-and enveloped him in a hug. "Sorry you didn't get to cum," he said, so seriously that Toki burst out laughing.

In comparison, the rest of the week proved uneventful. Toki went skating with Murderface on Thursday, but Murderface bought along Dick and ignored Toki the entire time. Murderface acted sort of weird around Toki following what became known as Toki's gay porn thing, not talking to him nearly as much as before, which didn't bother Toki too greatly. He continued to do mounds of meaningless chores but received no particularly ruthless punishment. His parents were under the impression that he was working on a history project worth his semester grade in the class (which was very much not true), so he was able to escape to Nathan's house for the week and also on Saturday, when his second date with Skwisgaar was scheduled for the mall at noon. Nathan and Pickles accompanied Toki, Murderface away at some family reunion thing for the day, and Toki bounced with anticipation the entire ride there. Nathan was engrossed with driving and Pickles with telling Nathan about Charles and Abigail's shared suspicious actions, including but not limited to their lack of interaction with him. Nathan reported that Charles had been talking to him considerably less and Abigail not at all, unsurprisingly.

They were late by fifteen minutes but Skwisgaar was nowhere to be seen either. Pickles and Toki sat down at a table in the food court while Nathan went to one of the eateries, a Chinese place of dubious quality that he was into, and waited. Toki's spirits were dropping fast, certain that Skwisgaar had stood him up. Pickles had already launched into a comforting mode, ready to begin calling Skwisgaar a douchebag and telling Toki he deserved better at any moment. But just as Nathan was returning with a tray ladened with fifteen bucks worth of weird quasi-Chinese food, Skwisgaar strolled through the mall door.

Pickles sighed; Toki's pulse picked up. Skwisgaar, glorious as ever, gliding towards him, dressed in all clothes that glowed under fluorescent lighting, along with his hair and skin and eyes, and Toki was mirthful, enamored, dumbstruck, lovestruck, in awe. Pickle's sigh escalated into a groan when Skwisgaar came to their table and took one of Toki's hand in his, bowing and kissing it. He lifted his chin just the slightest from the back of Toki's hand, skirting his eyes upward to meet Toki's. Toki suppressed a yelp by bringing the knuckles of his free hand to his lips; Pickles made a noise with his throat; Nathan had stopped eating.

"Hellos," Skwisgaar said, straightening himself up. He stood at his full height with his immaculate posture, making it hard on Toki's knees as he, himself, stood. Skwisgaar took Toki's hand in his, looking Nathan and Pickles dead in the eyes.

"So, uh," Nathan said, spearing a piece of orange chicken with his plastic fork. He bought it to his mouth slowly, opting to make eye contact with the food rather than Skwisgaar.

"We'll meet you back here in three hours," Pickles said, standing up himself and putting his hands on his hips. His eyes were narrowed, focused on Skwisgaar and Toki's entwined fingers. "Right here. This exact table."

"Okay, Mom," Toki said. Skwisgaar-and Nathan, silently and to himself-laughed. Pickles narrowed his eyes even further, lowering himself back into his seat. He maintained his menacing visage as he groped around Nathan's plate of Chinese food. He found an egg roll and took it, taking a large bite of it, all while staring. Skwisgaar and Toki turned and walked away from Nathan and Pickles, erupting into laughter as soon as they were out of earshot.

"What ams you wantingks to does?" Skwisgaar asked Toki. Skwisgaar turned to look at Toki while he talked; Toki was swinging their interlocked hands between them back and forth with force.

"I don't know," Toki said. They reached the center of the mall from which four spines extended; they had just come from the one that led to the food court. At the end of each spine there were large department stores and means of getting to the second floor of the mall. Along the way smaller shops, kiosks, boutiques and eateries. It was all the same to Toki; they came to the mall often enough, oftentimes sitting on the steps behind it where people rarely came to get stoned then cause ruckus within the mall. He had some goods time in this mall indeed, and had high expectations for this date. "Walks around, I guesses."

"Walks around it ams," Skwisgaar said, and they walked straight, curving their path around the large, ornate fountain in the center spewing water towards the gap in the second floor. "You knows, I ams been livingks here for months, and I has not comes here before."

"Really?" Toki said, looking at Skwisgaar in surprise. "Me and the guys, we comes here often." He had not yet noticed his English skills slipping, nor his accent coming out more fully.

"Ja," Skwisgaar said. He paused and looked to his left; there was a music store. He began to stride towards it, dragging Toki along with him. "I lives near heres, too. Dat's why I choose here for dis date." They crossed the threshold into the store and Skwisgaar immediately went for the back, along which there were posters, guitars, and novelty items for various things likes popular movies and television shows. Toki knew the store well. It was one of his and the other's more frequent haunts.

"Oh, well, I moved here when I was in the sixth grades," Toki said. He watched Skwisgaar flip through a stack of guitar magazines, occasionally scoffing at those who graced the cover. Toki recognized some of them due to Nathan and Pickles's interests in music, but had no opinions of his own to offer. "That was when I met the guys, too. They likes to come to the mall. I likes to have friends."

"Whys did you leaves Norway again?" Skwisgaar now steered Toki towards the actual music. Skwisgaar went for the metal section, which made Toki deeply happy and proud, for he knew more about metal than the average person and was glad that Skwisgaar was into it, too. Perhaps he would be able to find common ground with Toki's friends after all. Skwisgaar immediately started going through the Norwegian black metal section (which was suitably extensive) rather nonchalantly.

"My father was involved in a religion and had to move here for church stuffs, you know that. We still go every Sunday and sometimes my father is the preacher. I don't believes in any of it." Toki reached over and plucked a CD out of the bin, recognizing a band. He examined it, flipping it over in his free hand to read the back.

"Ah, I also am not believingks in anythings. I am a nihilist, as you knows." Skwisgaar sounded smug. He turned away from the CD selection and towards Toki, then took the album Toki had in his hands to examine it. "I knows dis band," he said, flipping it over for himself. "I saw dem on tours in Sweden."

"How was it?" Toki asked. He looked up at Skwisgaar, yet again impressed with him. Skwisgaar put the CD back in its bin and Toki grabbed his other hand, then leaned up to kiss him. They were side-eyed by an old woman perusing country music; Skwisgaar flicked his head at her. Toki withdrew and licked his lips, inwardly giddy at the first kiss of the day.

"It was okays," Skwisgaar said. He let go of one of Toki's hands and led him towards the guitars. "All of these guitars sucks," he said, running his fingers over the body of a zebra-print acoustic. "Cheaps piece of craps."

"I don't know a lot about guitars," Toki confessed, though he offhandedly liked the look of one of the electric ones, a gleaming gray in color.

"Guitars ams pretty much all I knows about," Skwisgaar said, serious in tone. He continued to explore and poke around the store, never staying anywhere for too long, and ended up not buying anything in the end. Toki hadn't expected him to. They left the store and continued to make their way down the mall hand-in-hand, passing mostly store branches that pandered to teenage girls. The mall was decently busy, it being a Saturday afternoon, and Toki saw a variety of people. None stood out to him. He preferred to pass the time looking at Skwisgaar's profile and standing with his back straight, proud of himself and wanting to show off.

Five minutes down the way there was a candy store that Toki immediately turned for, this time dragging Skwisgaar. "I loves candy," Toki sighed. Skwisgaar arched his eyebrows but said nothing as Toki began to look through the stacks and racks of various candy. The store arranged its candy by color, a rainbow wrapping around the faux wood walls. Toki revelled in its aesthetics.

While Toki was looking at black licorice, Skwisgaar picked up a small box. "Chocolate dipped cockoroaches?" He said, curling his lip and cocking his head.

Toki peered over at them and shrugged. "I don't know, I've never ates them," he said. He took the box from Skwisgaar's hand and looked at it closer. It was black in color, slimy green lets announcing its innards: World's Finest Chocolate Dipped Cockroaches. A disclaimer read that there were, indeed, real cockroaches inside, dipped in the world's finest European milk chocolate.

"Does you want to try them?" Skwisgaar asked. He was looking between the box and Toki, skeptical and slightly repulsed.

"Does you?" Toki made eye contact with Skwisgaar, asking him with his eyes as well.

"You knows what, I makes a deal," Skwisgaar said. "I buys them, we sees who ams able to eats de most of them." He took the box back from Toki and walked towards the cash register. Toki intensified his pace to keep up.

"Like a bet," Toki said as Skwisgaar paid three dollars for the box, which said that there were ten of the bugs inside. Skwisgaar nodded. "What does the winner get?"

"Whatever they wants," Skwisgaar said, shaking his head when the lady working the register asked if he wanted a bag for it. Skwisgaar led Toki away from the candy store, which made him a little sad, and towards one of the wooden benches in the center of the walkway outside. They sat down and Skwisgaar took his hand away from Toki's to open the box of cockroaches. Skwisgaar looked uncomfortable as he pulled a plastic container from the box. Inside were individually wrapped chocolate-dipped cockroaches.

Toki took one and unwrapped it, never a timid eater. Skwisgaar mirrored him but more slowly. "On three?" Toki asked, holding the candy near his mouth. It smelled like chocolate, at least. Skwisgaar nodded. Toki counted to three and then plopped the thing inside his mouth; Skwisgaar bit off the head. Toki chewed, unable to come to a decision as to whether or not he liked it; the chocolate was very good, but the texture was weirdly crunchy, and what he guessed was the cockroach itself had a strange, almost bitter flavor that he wasn't necessarily opposed to. Skwisgaar immediately spit his back out into the wrapper and scraped at his tongue with his hands.

"Disgustingks!" he said. He put the box beside him and went to throw his decapitated cockroach away in a nearby trash can. He returned to stand in front of Toki, hands on his hips.

Toki swallowed his, looked up at Skwisgaar and smiled. "I win," he said, standing up.

"Does you-you likes them?" Skwisgaar said. He was eyeing the box as if the cockroaches were going to fly into his mouth and force themselves down his throat, face contoured in utter repulsion.

"They were okay," Toki said. He put his hands over Skwisgaar's on his hips and kissed him fully, opening Skwisgaar's mouth with his tongue and sliding it against his. Skwisgaar recoiled from the kiss and turned his head; Toki guessed he tasted like cockroach, and was finding the whole situation utterly hilarious. He kissed Skwisgaar's cheek and let go of his hands.

Skwisgaar just scoffed and took Toki's hand in his, guiding them away from the bench and subsequently the chocolate dipped cockroaches. "Leaves it for de next peoples," he said, when Toki asked him about the candy they were leaving behind.

"Maybe they'll like them," Toki said. They were now ascending an escalator to the second floor, Toki a step above Skwisgaar and facing towards him instead of ahead.

"If dey ams crazies," Skwisgaar said. He pulled another face of utter repugnance. He placed an arm on Toki's forearm and then said, "Watches your step," when they were near the top. Toki turned around and exited the escalator properly, enjoying the hand Skwisgaar placed on the small of Toki's back to guide him. Toki returned the favor by tugging on Skwisgaar's wrist as he walked off the escalator. Toki was thoroughly enjoying himself, much more than he usually did at the mall, and he felt like a proper teenager for once in his life: free yet carefree, mirthful.

They went into the department store at this end of the mall via the second floor entrance. They wandered through aisles of makeup and purses until they found the men's section. The clothing was expensive and not matching either of their tastes-while polo shirts and khakis hung on the walls, Skwisgaar was in a way oversized black-and-white flannel and tattered jeans and Toki in a thin black HUF hoodie and cargo shorts-but Skwisgaar seemed to have a purpose. This section of the store was empty of people besides themselves and Skwisgaar led Toki through a maze of clothes into the fitting rooms. Toki was beginning to get an idea of why they were in here.

They went into one towards the back; these fitting rooms locked from the inside, requiring no store employee, and had heavy doors that went from ceiling to floor. Overall, they were perfect, and before he knew it Toki was inside of one, back against the slick tile wall, Skwisgaar's fingers pulling aside his hair and his mouth on his neck. Toki was gasping, but not in an unpleasant way, more in a generally pleased way. His arms scrambled for a second before he knotted both of his hands into Skwisgaar's hair and yanked and twisted it around his hands. Skwisgaar's hair was soft and thick and his mouth was hot and wet on Toki's neck; Toki was pretty much in bliss. They stayed like this long enough for a large hickey to come to surface on the juncture between Toki's shoulder and neck and then Skwisgaar pulled away, cupping Toki's face in both of his hands. His lips were wet with his own saliva and Toki leaned in to lick them, but Skwisgaar pulled back again just as Toki's tongue grazed his bottom lip.

Toki whined. Skwisgaar chuckled. "You wons de bet," he said, and it was quite possibly the most seductive thing Toki had ever heard. "What ams you goingks to be doingks?"

Toki thought for a moment. He considered saving his winnings in case he ever needed them, then thought about the situation at hand and dismissed the idea of saving them as utterly stupid. In his thinking he stuck his tongue between his lips. He rolled through recent memories and urges for a few seconds before something clicked inside. "I has an idea, but you can say no if you want to."

"Okay, I probably won'ts, but okay," Skwisgaar said. He put his forehead against Toki and moved his hands back so that they were under Toki's ears and knotted in Toki's hair. "What ams it?"

"I wants to bite you," Toki said, chest heaving with nerves and arousal. His skin was flushed and he was hot. Skwisgaar's body curving against his own did not help, but Toki wasn't about to complain. He liked the heat, liked the feeling of his heart going haywire.

Skwisgaar's face remained relaxed. "Dat's not dat extremes," Skwisgaar said. He sounded curious and moved his head to the side, forehead rolling along Toki's own. Toki was struck for a second by how beautiful he was, then regained himself.

"On de mouth. And-" Toki swallowed, making hardcore eye contact with Skwisgaar, begging him not to throw him out in disgust like he was a chocolate dipped cockroach. "Makes you bleed."

There was a beat. A momentary pause. The world stopped. Then, Skwisgaar said, quiet and slow, "My gods, does it," pupils fat and boring into Toki's eyes. Skwisgaar straightened his head and pulled back, leaving enough space between them. Toki nodded and leaned into Skwisgaar, moving his mouth towards his as he tipped his head back, and took Skwisgaar's bottom lip between his teeth. Toki bit down. He did it gradually at first, teasing, and then very hard all at once; he shivered when he tasted coppery blood. They were both into it-they went back to regularly kissing as Skwisgaar continued to bleed, his blood passing between their mouths. They were pressed chest-to-chest, melding and melting into the other. Skwisgaar took both of Toki's hands and pinned them to the wall with one of his, pressing his thumb hard into Toki's wrists, and in return Toki bit Skwisgaar again then pulled back. He smiled, blood on his teeth and around his mouth, and watched blood trickle down Skwisgaar's chin, slowly. Toki was more than a little hard.

"Dat was worth it," Toki said, chest still visibly heaving. Skwisgaar let go of his hands and Toki lowered them to his side, pushing his hoodie down while he was at it; Skwisgaar had been running the fingers of his other hand around Toki's naval. Toki waited for Skwisgaar to step back, but he didn't; instead, he looked at Toki, eyes deep. Toki raised his hand to Skwisgaar's mouth and placed his middle finger on his bleeding lip, then ran it down, down Skwisgaar's neck and over his Adam's apple, down to his chest, where Toki placed his entire hand, lightly. They went back to intensely making out at that point. By the end Skwisgaar's lip had stopped bleeding but his blood had gotten in several places on their respective faces and necks, dried rusty spots dotting their skin. They both had hands up the other's shirt, both of Toki's palms pressing into Skwisgaar's chest, one of Skwisgaar's around Toki's shoulder while the other was on his side, both under his hoodie.

"We has to stop sometimes," Toki said as Skwisgaar mouthed Toki's ear. If not because they wasted almost an hour making out, because Toki's balls were seriously starting to ache, heavy to the point of uncomfort. He unwillingly moaned as Skwisgaar once more moved his lips to that sensitive spot behind his left ear.

"I guesses you ams right," Skwisgaar said. Toki still felt lonely when Skwisgaar lifted himself off, though. Toki surveyed Skwisgaar-hair disheveled, pupils dilated, blood everywhere-and took his hands out from under his shirt. He then looked at himself in the mirror and found himself to be pretty much in the same state. He tried the best he could to readjust his hair and clothes while Skwisgaar coped his actions, sneaking looks at each other in the mirror. They both wiped as much blood off of themselves and the other as they could.

"Let's go to the bathroom," Toki said as they exited the fitting room. The menswear section of the department store was still deserted, luckily, and a bathroom was located not too far away from the fitting rooms. There was nobody in there either and they washed the blood off themselves and each other with soapy paper towels, occasionally sharing a deep tongue kiss or a chaste one at the corner of the mouth, Toki silly with happiness at that point. They exited the bathroom hand-in-hand once more, then the department store, and began to wander around.

"What time is it?" Toki asked as they left the department store. He was swinging their hands with force again and humming to himself; Skwisgaar was tolerating it. Skwisgaar pulled his phone, which Toki took note to be a shitty twenty-dollar flip phone, from his back pocket, and checked the time.

"We has an hours left," Skwisgaar said, putting the phone back in his pocket. He frowned. "Not enoughs times."

"I was just gonna hang out with Nathan, Pickle, and Moidaface after this," Toki said. He pointed at a smoothie stand in the middle of the mall and looked at Skwisgaar; Skwisgaar nodded, and they went towards the smoothies. "You can come with us."

"Your friends will not minds?" Skwisgaar asked as they slid into the smoothie stand line. There were two people in front of them, boring twenty-somethings that Toki took no interest in beside impatience for their presence to cease. "They ams not seemingks to likes me."

"They always bring along their friends," Toki said. He furrowed his brow and puffed out his lower lip, pouting"But they don't let me bring Rockzo to anything! He's my lab partner in Chemistry class and my friend,," he added as explanation. "But you, you ams my boyfriend! If Moidaface can bring Dick, I can bring you." He went to cross his arms over his chest, then remembered he was holding hands with Skwisgaar, and instead stomped one of his feet.

"Dick ams that producer guy, right?" Skwisgaar asked. One twenty-something departed from the line, smoothie in tow, and they shuffled forward.

Toki nodded. He read the board advertising the smoothies and found it hard to pick one. They all sounded delicious, and he knew them to be scrumptious due to past experience. It was a hard decision; he stuck his tongue between as he contemplated his choices.

"His name fits him," Skwisgaar said. Toki laughed. He bit his tongue in the process and yelped; Skwisgaar laughed harder.

The other person in line exited with their respective smoothie, and it was Toki's turn to order. Unable to decide what he wanted, picked at random. Five minutes later he was sitting on yet another bench, this time with one hand flat on the bench and Skwisgaar's over it, fingers woven together, and a large strawberry mango smoothie in the other, straw between his lips. Skwisgaar had gotten himself a bottle of water and drank it demurely. Toki sucked his smoothie with strength; this caught Skwisgaar's eye, and he chucklee.

Toki pulled the smoothie away from his lips. "What?" He asked, genuinely confused. His hand twitched underneath Skwisgaar's and they repositioned their hands slightly, subconsciously. That was weird and new to Toki, the way two bodies automatically adjust to fit each other. There were some things he realized people were ignorant to before entering a relationship with another person, and that was one of them.

"I thinks you ams goingks to be good at de blowjobs," Skwisgaar said. Toki looked away, at his smoothie, and felt something drain inside of him. "Whats wrong, little Toki? Oh, I forgets you ams so innocent." Skwisgaar tried to restrain himself from laughing, but he still managed to, accenting the last few syllables of his sentence with the sound. He continued to laugh as he continued to talk. "It ams my goal to changes that."

"I'm less innocent than you think," Toki said. It was difficult for him to discuss such subjects brazenly, but he made the decision to soldier on. To be a man

"Prove it." Skwisgaar leaned it close to Toki and said this against his ear, as breathy as he could manage it. He placed a kiss on that sensitive spot behind Toki's ear and then bit-not nibbled, bit-Toki's earlobe. Toki flushed again, this time straight to his dick, and drank some more of his smoothie to distract himself.

"Okay," Toki said, placing his smoothie beside him on the bench and rubbing his hands on his knees. They weren't exposed; his cargo shorts covered them even when he sat down. That made him feel more protected. "This Wednesday, Nathan, Pickle, and Moidaface caught me jerking off. To other guys jerking off." He looked Skwisgaar dead in the eyes, serious as he could make himself.

Skwisgaar snatched his hand away from Toki and clutched his stomach, doubling over as he was laughing so hard. Toki huffed and drank some more of his smoothie as angrily as he could, but that only made Skwisgaar laugh harder. Had Toki not been so offended or so involved in his smoothie he might've seen the humor and laughed himself, but he was offended, and the smoothie was divine. Skwisgaar eventually unfolded himself and replaced his hand, this time properly holding Toki's, and looked at him. "Oh, Tokis," he said. He placed a hand on his cheek. "Min pojkvän. I has slept with so many peoples I lose counts."

This didn't make Toki jealous; he expected that much, and was sort of glad. Somebody experienced could teach him, guide him. Still, he harrumphed. "I haven't had the chance to not be innocent, kjæresten min." He sucked up more of his smoothie; it was almost gone.

"You will has de chance," Skwisgaar said. Having not removed the hand on his cheek, he stroked his thumb over Toki's cheekbone. "Hopefully it ams goingks to be soon, but I ams willingks to take things slowly. I ams tryingks to done things right once time."

Toki placed a hand over Skwisgaar's on his cheek. "Thanks you," he said, running his own thumb over the veins of the back of Skwisgaar's hand. He had such lovely guitar player's hands; Toki was nearing obsession with them. "I don't know a lot about, um, sex. Or anything. I guess." He took his hand away, looked at the floor, and drank the last of his smoothie. He was sad to have it gone, both the smoothie and a reliable means of distraction.

"Well, like in de guitars, I ams de master," Skwisgaar said. He leaned in and kissed Toki; when he took his lips away Toki rubbed their noses together, and Skwisgaar smiled in spite of himself. "Secks, ad seckuals things, dey ams fun. Especially with another peoples. Much more funs than by yousself." He placed an arm around the bench behind Toki, turning his body towards him. Toki mirrored the action, placing one hand on Skwisgaar's knee as Skwisgaar held the other.

"If you says so," Toki said. "I'll take your word for it. I didn't know I was into guys until a few weeks ago," he said, sighing. "I never thought about it."

"Me eithers," Skwisgaar said. He shrugged. "I fucks who I fucks. It ams not dat big of a deal, little Tokis." He was sincere and for that Toki was grateful; for his existence, Toki was grateful. He looked at Skwisgaar looking at him, at their tangled mess of limbs, at the sores on his lips where he'd bitten them and shared their blood, and he felt something inside of his chest give out. He felt whatever had been blocking something break, and that something flood him from above him to below him. It was not love yet not infatuation, somewhere in between. Fondness. In Norwegian, forelsket.

Toki smiled at Skwisgaar, who smiled back, the corner of his eyes crinkling. He could feel Skwisgaar feeling it too, could feel it in his bones, living inside of him. "What ams it like?" He asked. He wasn't sure what it was supposed to be, exactly, as he was curious to it all-to Skwisgaar-but hoped Skwisgaar would interpret it in his own way.

"Sometimes-most of de times-it was ams lonely," Skwisgaar said. He sighed; Toki watched the rise and fall of his chest, the gentle stir of his hair, the way his eyelids fluttered, the fine blond eyelashes. Forelsket. "But that ams behind me now," Skwisgaar said, and his eyes popped opened, a grin forming on his face. He pulled out his phone and checked the time. "Come, Toki, we has only a hour-half left." He stood up and pulled Toki from the bench with both hands.

Skwisgaar stumbled backwards as he pulled Toki forwards, and they smiled at each other and chuckled. Toki wanted people to see him and be jealous of him, for his blithe bliss, for the perfect person in his company. He felt jealous of himself, even, fortuitous almost to the point of disbelief. He felt himself beginning to understand the point of living, the inherent yet hidden supreme vivacity to these strange and at time troublesome twilight teenage years. He was gradually yet undoubtedly ascending into a nirvana of gratifaction. He began to comprehend why they portrayed the stage he had previously found so addled and awkward as a period of unspoiled pleasure in the media; it was possible to attain, and here he was, on the path to attainment.

The walk to the food court felt much shorter than the one that took them away from it, maybe because Toki was dreading getting back, or maybe because they had made so many stops on the original one. He held Skwisgaar's hand tight and they talked of various subjects, including but not limited to, bananas, Eurovision and men who paint their nails. They went to the table where Skwisgaar had picked Toki up and sat across from each other, holding hands over the table, both of their heads laying on the tabletop-Skwisgaar on his chin, Toki on his cheek-and looking at each other. They ran their thumbs over each other's hands and talked, then sat up straight and released each other when Nathan and Pickles returned, Nathan carrying a bag from the music store and Pickles eating a cinnamon bun, a cheap-looking kitty-ear headband in his dreads. Skwisgaar looked at Toki and arched a single eyebrow; Toki put a fist over his mouth to keep from laughing.

"Hey, guys," Toki said. Nathan and Pickles sat down, Nathan beside Skwisgaar and Pickles beside Toki. "I was wondering-um-what are we doing after this?" His accent was richer than usual, but he focused on his English, having noticed its tendency to slip when around Skwisgaar. Nathan and Pickles didn't seem to notice any change.

"Party at Charles's," Nathan said. Pickles seemed to be making a point by silently eating his cinnamon bun. Skwisgaar picked up on this and grabbed Toki's hand on top of the table, the action dripping with deliberation.

"I think it'd be really neat and cool if Skwisgaar came along with us," Toki said, his voice wobbling. He looked at Skwisgaar, who nodded his head, encouraging him. "Yeah. It would be really neat and cool."

"Yeah, okay, I guess that'd be cool with me," Nathan said. He put his shopping bag on the table and looked at Pickles. "Are you cool with it, Pickles?"

Pickles lowered the cinnamon bun, which he was almost done with, and slowly rotated his head to look at Skwisgaar. He narrowed his eyes again and said, "I dunno."

"You..doesn't knows?" Skwisgaar said. He tightened his hold on Toki's hand to the point it almost hurt and one of Toki's fingers cracked.

"I dunno you," Pickles explained. He took another bite of his cinnamon bun and chewed it before continuing. "You could try and steal from Charles, or murder a whore."

"Ams dere goingks to be whores?" Skwisgaar sounded more amused than anything, playing into Pickles's game. Toki hadn't the slightest idea what the fuck was up with Pickles, but he was enjoying the way Skwisgaar dealt with it.

"Aw, come on, Pickle," Toki pleaded. He placed a hand on Pickles's shoulder and forced Pickles to look him in the eyes, trying to telepathically communicate just how much he wanted this. When that seemed not to work he did it verbally. "You guys always bring along people, and Murderface ams-is-stuck to Dick!" (At this, Nathan and Skwisgaar shared a chuckle.)

Pickles took the last bite of his cinnamon bun, left to throw away the wrapper, then returned. He did not sit down, but instead took stock of the three of them with his hands flat on the table, shoulders rolled forward, then opened his mouth to speak. "Charles's party doesn't start until seven, so I guess we can hang at Nathan's until then. Murderface and Dick are meeting us at Nathan's house in an hour. Let's go."

"All of us?" Toki asked, hopeful. He took his hand away from Skwisgaar to form it into a begging position in his chest, pulling his best puppy dog face. Skwisgaar leaned back in his chair and looked judgingly at Toki.

"Yes, all of us. C'mon, Nathan." Pickles turned around and exited the foodcourt; Nathan took his bag and stood up himself. He flicked his hair out of his face and sighed in an exaggerated fashion.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what's wrong with him," he said to Toki and Skwisgaar, as quietly as he could, looking towards the door to make sure Pickles was not present and could not hear him.

Skwisgaar and Toki exchanged a look, shrugged, and stood up themselves. They followed Nathan to the parking lot hand-in-hand; this time Toki did not swing them with force. Skwisgaar opened the door to Nathan's truck for Toki and then let himself in on the other side, behind Pickles. They did not hold hands in the backseat of Nathan's truck, Skwisgaar's arms folded over his chest as he looked out the window. Toki let his arms rest as his side and spent the ride looking at Skwisgaar's long legs and the way he sat with them splayed opened, no seatbelt on. He was glad that he now had the permission to openly gawk at Skwisgaar, for he was truly a gorgeous specimen.

They arrived at Nathan's house no problem and immediately went to Nathan's room. His parents weren't home, so nobody questioned Skwisgaar's presence. Skwisgaar and Toki hung back from Nathan and Pickles and hold hands, goosing each other on the stairs as they walked up them. Skwisgaar did not seem too impressed by Nathan's house after his initial head-turning survey, and Toki was delighted, as Skwisgaar's attention was directly focused on him. They entered Nathan's room and Toki went to the window immediately, sitting below it. Pickles was on Nathan's bed, already smoking a joint, and Nathan was busy putting away his new CDs and records into his extensive, alphabetically organized collection in his closet.

"What de fucks ams with all dese garden gnomes," Skwisgaar said, looking out the window, both hands curled around the edge. Toki tugged on Skwisgaar's shirt to get him to sit down; Skwisgaar did, draping an arm around Toki's shoulders and extending his legs in front of him. Toki mirrored that, bumping one of Skwisgaar's feet (he was wearing studded leather boots again) with his own (Toki was in simple black-and-white checkered Vans). Skwisgaar bumped back, and they turned it into a game, getting aggressive with it.

"I don't know, the guys next door are always placing another one every couple of weeks," Toki said, dropping his head to Skwisgaar's shoulder. Skwisgaar brushed some of Toki's hair behind his ear with his free hand, then allowed his own head to fall on Toki's. "Roll me a joint, Pickle."

Pickles did what he told, making one on the bed. He was using an old essay of his for their history class as rolling paper; Toki's history project alibi made this amusing to him. Pickles got off of Nathan's bed and handed the joint to Toki unlighted. Toki was about to complain when Skwisgaar pulled a lighter from his pocket and lit it for him. "You ams goingks to share, ja?" he said, hand cupped around the blunt and lighter.

"Of course," Toki said, and he smoked some then passed it to Skwisgaar. They nuzzled noses while passing, and then Skwisgaar turned away so as to bring the blunt to his mouth. Toki watched him do it and decided that Skwisgaar was the most elegant smoker he had ever encountered.

Nathan finished organization and walked to his bed, sitting beside Pickles. "You two are making me sick. Like, seriously. Stop it." He looked at Skwisgaar and Toki and made a face of disgust.

Toki stuck his tongue at Nathan. "Sorry," he said. Nathan rolled his eyes and turned to Pickles, engaging him in a (pointlessly) hushed conversation about something uninteresting related to Charles and Abigail. Toki himself said (pointlessly) hushed to Skwisgaar, "I'm not really sorry."

"Nots am I neither," Skwisgaar said, and he passed the joint back to Toki, who readily inhaled.

They passed their time in their pairs, Skwisgaar and Toki completely stoned and paying attention to only each other after half an hour of passing the blunt back and forth, Nathan and Pickles working on Nathan's homework (which meant Pickles giving the answers to Nathan as he wrote them down) to maintain Nathan's measly GPA and thus spot on the football team. Dick and Murderface showed up around four; they immediately sent Dick, whose jaw dropped at the sight of Skwisgaar, out on a Dimmu Burger run. Pickles even wrote him a very specific list with their orders, including Skwisgaar's, on the back of Nathan's dismal chemistry notes and provided Dick with no money to pay for the food.

"That'sch kind of rude of you guysch," Murderface said as he immediately went to Nathan's computer and sat in his chair with his boots propped up on his desk. He began to browse music blogs, one arm hanging off the chair behind him.

"Oh, like you're one to tell us about what's rude," Pickles said, eying Murderface's boots. He returned to helping Nathan with his homework, which still wasn't done, placing an arm on his bicep as he pointed to an error Nathan had made in a math problem.

Toki and Skwisgaar barely took count of this conversation as they continued to make eyes at and run their fingers over each other. Skwisgaar played with the ends of Toki's hair and told him he had too many split-ends and needed a trim; Toki told him that his parents wouldn't take him to a hairdresser and the guys didn't want to wait around for him; Skwisgaar vowed to take Toki to one. Toki unbuttoned and buttoned the top three buttons of Skwisgaar's shirt several times, attempting to find out which he liked better, and decided that Skwisgaar looked best with a plunging neckline. Pickles said, passively and from Nathan's bed, that it made Skwisgaar look like a douche, but Skwisgaar and Toki barely heard him as they were too busy French kissing beneath the window sill.

Dick returned with their food and shelled out the individual orders to all of them, beginning with Murderface and ending with Skwisgaar and Toki. When he handed Skwisgaar the bag containing his burger and fries he squatted in front of the other boy, pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head, and blinked at him like he couldn't quite believe he was real. "What're you doing here, you Swedish god of a guitar player?" He asked, finally.

"Hanginks out with my boysfriend and his friends," Skwisgaar said. He reached into the Dimmu burger bag and pulled out a single fry, placing it in his mouth. Toki was halfway through his hamburger already, suffering a serious case of the munchies.

"You two are-" Dick gestured between Skwisgaar and Toki fast with his hand, still blinking hard. "Seriously? That's great, I'm happy for you! Please let me produce your band." He sounded pleading at that point, grabbing two fistfuls of Skwisgaar's shirt and shaking him back and forth, looking him straight in the eyes. At this, Toki sent a what the actual fuck are you doing there Dick face towards the two of them. Dick's desperation had even attracted the attention of the other guys; Nathan and Murderface had their heads in their hands, and Pickles looked smug and amused.

"I ams tellingks you," Skwisgaar said through gritted teeth as Dick continued to shake him, hand curled around the Dimmu Burger bag, "talks to Mark. Now lets go of mes!"

Dick let Skwisgaar gp as instructed and picked himself up. He sat on the corner of Nathan's computer desk by Murderface's boots, one knee folded over the other and hands folded on top of that. His order had been with Murderface's, and Murderface handed Dick his salad. He unpackaged it and began to eat, poking around in the plastic container in a manner similar to a wounded baby bird.

"Scheriouschly, Dick, man, buddy, you can't be so deschperate," Murderface said to Dick, fat fingers wrapped around an even fatter burger and mouth full of a half-chewed bite. He was watching a video of a gastric bypass as he ate. Dick shot a look at Murderface that could burn a mere mortal and picked his salad apart in front of him.

"I can't eat and watch them," Nathan said, pointing with his burger at Skwisgaar and Toki; Skwisgaar was feeding Toki his fries, one by one. "C'mon, Pickles, let's go downstairs." Nathan and Pickles collected their things and left, leaving the door open. Dick and Murderface stayed put, actively not speaking to each other, Dick with his legs uncrossed and salad in his lap. Murderface's bypass video ended and he opened up one depicting a knee surgery as he moved towards his second burger.

"Ams dis what you guys does normallsky?" Skwisgaar asked as he stopped feeding Toki fries and instead fed them to himself. Toki replaced fries with milkshake, chocolatey and delicious.

"Pretty much, yep," Toki said between drags of milkshake. "Sometimes we goes places, but it ams pretty much all de same." He exaggerated the last part of his sentence in a singsong voice and took another swing of milkshake. He was very, very stoned, stoned to his core, and as a result of that extremely complacent. Judging by the hand rubbing his shoulder and the way he was eating in flourished movements, Skwisgaar was in a similar state.

"Cool," Skwisgaar said. "Me and Mark and dem, we just practices. So fuckings boringks."

"Oh noes, I am never bored here," Toki said, shaking his head and thus wiggling the straw of the milkshake back and forth. "And if I am, it's a good type of bored."

"Dere is a good types of bored?" Skwisgaar readjusted himself so that he was leaning into Toki; Toki put both of his legs across Skwisgaar's thighs so they could sit more comfortably at an angle. Skwisgaar was almost done with his food, and Toki just had the milkshake, both hands cupped around it. He spoke around the straw.

"Yes, dere ams a bored where it ams like you ams happy to be bored because it ams so good," Toki explained, nodding along with his words. "Where you ams in a happy place!" At this point he was more Norwegian than English, voice high and heavy with accent, grammar terrible. He didn't even notice.

"I sees!" Skwisgaar said. Then he took Toki's milkshake away from him, placing it on the windowsill above them, and silenced Toki's whine of protest with his own mouth. Toki fell to the ground, head near one leg of Nathan's computer desk and arms wrapped around it, holding onto it as Skwisgaar supported himself with both arms and kissed Toki fully.

"Jeschusch Chrischt that isch dischguschting!" Murderface yelped, and he leapt backwards out of his chair, body slamming into Dick's legs. Dick's tumbled off the desk and into Murderface's flailing arms; Murderface shrieked and threw Dick out of them. Dick slammed into the desk, rattling it and causing Toki and Skwisgaar to stop momentarily and pay attention to the scene; they deemed it uninteresting and went back to each other. Murderface and Dick both fled the room, both howling, Murderface in abhorrence and Dick in agony. Skwisgaar and Toki continued to make out, grinding into each other and enjoying themselves. Skwisgaar went to the button of Toki's pants and Toki stopped him, apologetic, but Skwisgaar didn't seem to mind.

Dick and Murderface returned eventually; at this point Toki and Skwisgaar had stopped making out and were once more sitting under the windowsill wrapped up in each other and conversing idly. Toki was growing sleepy but needed to wake up, as according to Dick and Murderface the party was beginning in forty-five minutes and they had to get ready. Toki didn't have to get ready; all he had to do was stand up and walk out, but Dick, Murderface and Pickles required prep time. Toki listened to and laughed at their squabble over the upstairs (and vastly superior) bathroom which Pickles won by Nathan's intervention: "Pickles gets it. Sorry guys." Dick and Murderface stomped and complained their way down the stairs. Nathan came into his room, changed his shirt, and flopped onto his bed, already exhausted by his company.

When everybody was finished, suitably dressed and prepared, they filed themselves into their respective cars. Dick and Murderface left in Dick's car ahead of Nathan, Pickles, Toki and Skwisgaar, who poured themselves into their previous positions in Nathan's truck. Pickles had more weed and passed a joint back and forth between himself, Skwisgaar and Toki, while Nathan drank Coke out of a classic Coke bottle. He claimed it felt like beer and made him feel better about being the designated driver.

They arrived at Charles's house, or mansion, as it was more fit to be called. Charles was rich with absentee parents and thus Charles often threw uncharacteristically large, amazing, proud and brash bashes. He had an extensive, well manicured wall with a huge driveway; by the time they pulled up, ten minutes early, there were at least ten cars lined up outside. The door was wide open, a portal to a world of teenage debauchery, and Toki stopped feeling sleepy so much as excited. He had a good feeling about the night, Skwisgaar's presence beside him only amplifying his mood and premonition. Nathan parked on the curb outside of Charles's house and the group got out of the car, Toki and Skwisgaar holding hands and walking behind Nathan and Pickles. They passed Dick's car on the trek to Charles's front door. Then, they walked through the portal.

Charles's foyer had a high ceiling and sensible beige walls, decorated in a minimalist fashion that showed off how fucking rich they were, small pieces of expensive art the only decoration. Nathan and Pickles went for the kitchen, which was straight ahead, and from Toki's past experiences where Charles (and probably Abigail, by extension) would be greeting guests. Toki had been to a few of Charles's parties before-not as many as Nathan and Pickles, but a good few-and knew his way around pretty well. He led Skwisgaar to the living room, where there were a few people that Toki recognized but didn't know hanging around and drinking. Toki watched one guy pop some pills and then share some with the girl he was with. Toki and Skwisgaar sat down on the couch, melding together as one being sharing one cushion and pressed against an arm. The living room was spacious with two doors, one that led to a hallway and one that led from a foyer. An unlit fireplace was the centerpiece of the room. Void of wood, charcoal and ash, it currently housed a cooler of drinks.

"Does you go to parties often?" Toki asked Skwisgaar. Their hands were folded together in their shared laps,

"Ja," Skwisgaar said. They were talking softly, only to each other; there was not yet music, and there would not be until some more people arrived. The room was filling in around them and Toki saw a steady stream walk through the foyer, most to the kitchen and then around into the other entrance into the living room that led through the hallway. People grabbed drinks from the fireplace cooler and made conversation with each other, occasionally exchanging pills or pieces of paper, following and departing.

"Ams dey good parties, though?" Toki asked. He pecked Skwisgaar on the lips. He was still fairly stoned, but it was fading around the edges, leaving room for rational thought to gradually edge creep back in.

Skwisgaar shrugged. "A good party ams one I don't remember," Skwisgaar said, "so I ams not knowingks." This somehow made sense to Toki, and he smiled as he licked Skwisgaar's lips open, moved his tongue inside his mouth, and did not remove it for quite some time.

Normally at parties Toki would find the stoners and get stoned (or even more stoned) with them until Nathan and Pickles wanted to leave. He would hang out with Murderface and play wingman for him as he repeatedly got shot down and increased in lecherous behavior towards women way out of his league, all the while sneering at ones he deemed beneath him who were still above him. Toki would watch drama with passivity and maybe kick a dude in the stomach a few times if he looked at him funny or elbowed him in their shared struggle to navigate a throng of partygoers. Normally at parties Toki had a pretty average time. This time, at this party, though, Toki spent it with a tongue down his throat and freedom to do so since nobody gave a fuck. Music started, loud and obnoxious house and crunk, that at first made Skwisgaar recoil from the kiss due to repulsion, and then they picked up a rhythm that matched that of the music and everything was okay. Everything was okay.

They separated at some point and started talking to each other, Skwisgaar's elbow on the couch and head in his hand while Toki played with his hair, and Toki observed some very interesting things. Charles's house had filled to a bursting point; Toki didn't know how Charles had a monopoly on his high school's population and then some, but he did, and the crowd of people was as impressive as ever. There were familiar and unfamiliar faces and bodies pressed into each other, moving with the music, talking, drinking, yelling, making out.

"Nathan ams getting drunk," Toki said as he watched Nathan saunter into the room, a full red Solo cup of something sloshing down his hand. His mannerisms were that of when he was drunk and that was how Toki came to that conclusion. Much like Toki, Nathan was a sloppy drunk.

"This ams a problem?" Skwisgaar said. He craned his head to watch Nathan hit on some chick in a tight leather dress with teased black hair; Toki remembered, faintly, that her name was Lavona, and that she was one of Nathan's stalker chicks. Toki didn't know how, but Nathan had amassed a following of girls that were really into him that he mostly ignored unless he was drunk. Which he was, and he had one hand on Lavona's shoulder to steady himself as he chugged from his cup. His hand slipped to Lavona's breast, fondling her, and Lavona grinned as Nathan crumpled his cup, threw it to the ground, and followed her down the hall.

"A big one," Toki said, frowning deeply. None of this was good. "He ams the designated driver. Pickle ams going to be mad. Oh, Pickle ams going to be real mad."

"I guess it ams a problem, then," Skwisgaar said, and he sighed.

Toki watched the people around him. There was another couple on the couch, this one heterosexual, the girl straddling the guy's lap and his hands curled around her exposed hipbones. They were the ones who had shared pills earlier and they were totally out of it, eyes glazed over and moaning to each other. People came and went through the living room, dancing in the open space between couch and fireplace, grinding on each other or the air. Somebody was passed out leaning on one side of the fireplace but Toki couldn't make out who it was or anything about them, really, most of their body hidden by the fireplace. Toki saw Charles only once, coming in through the foyer to check up on the living room when somebody pushed someone else to the ground and almost began a fight. It was weird, to sit and watch a party happen instead of participating in the events, but it was not unwelcome.

Pickles came looking for Nathan half an hour after he disappeared into the hallway with Lavona. Pickles sat in front of Skwisgaar and Toki, eyes half-lidded. He had a bottle of beer in one hand and a lot of grass (the actual kind that grows in the yard) in the other. He was wearing the kitty ears from earlier and his shirt was barely on, bunched around his neck with his arms free. "You see Nathan?" he asked, slurring his words.

"Yeah, he went into the hallway with Lavona," Toki said. He bit his lip. "Pickle..."

"What?" Pickles shouted the word and lurched forward, but balanced himself. "What're you Pickling me for?"

"Nathan ams drunk," Skwisgaar said, as Toki couldn't bring himself to say it. Toki flinched before Pickles even reacted-it was the look on his face, disappointment before all else.

"Fuck!" Pickles shouted, and this time he didn't balance himself when he lurched, instead coming to his feet. The grass and beer bottle fell from his hand as he ran towards the hallway, the beer bottle crashing to the floor and sending glass shards and liquid everywhere, while the grass slumped and landed in a puddle of beer. Skwisgaar sneered.

"This sucks," Toki said, slumping into the couch.

"I will calls Mark in a bits," Skwisgaar said, smoothing Toki's hair. "Mark never drinks. He ams too high-strung about his shitty musics and dis girl dat broke his heart in high school. Patheticks! Anyways, I will calls him."

"Thank you," Toki said, and he kissed Skwisgaar again, but not nearly as deeply or as long. They settled into a comfortable position and remained there, talking and tracing pattern on the other's skin, passing the time.

Toki did not see Dick or Murderface once throughout the party though he knew they were there, and wondered about their location exactly one time before deciding that he really didn't give a fuck. Nathan and Pickles were, as usual, ever the more troublesome; Nathan reemerged from the hallway without Lavona, drunk to the point of utter sloppiness, involved in a shouting match with Pickles: "You're the designated driver!" "I like to have fun too! Fuck you guys!" "You're the only one who can drive!" "Fuck you guys!" "You hate Lavona!" "So!" "Charles is being weird!" "Not my problem!" so on and so forth. Toki followed it the best he could but Nathan and Pickles weaved in and out of rooms until Pickles returned to Skwisgaar and Toki and slumped to the floor in front of them again, forgetting about the shards of glass, beer and grass that he was now sitting in.

"Nathan passed out," he said, moping. He'd pulled his shirt on properly sometime during the shouting match, and this made him look all the more pathetic. Even his kitty ear crown seemed to be drooping. His face was utterly heartbreaking, sad and lonely.

"I think we ams past the point where de party and other people's drunkenness ams fun," Toki said, looking not at Pickles but at Skwisgaar. Skwisgaar nodded in agreement.

"I'll calls Mark," he said. He managed to untangle himself from Toki and get off the couch without stepping on glass, grass, beer, or Pickles, an impressive feat. He aided Toki in maneuvering the debris and then helped Pickles to his feet. Pickles allowed himself to be supported by Skwisgaar and Toki as they walked out of the house, leaving the portal to teenage debauchery and emerging into a much more quiet normalcy. They headed for the sidewalk curb, where Skwisgaar and Toki lowered Pickles down as gently as they could. Pickles's head hit his knees; he wasn't passed out exactly, but in a sad stupor. That was fine enough to Toki, who kept an eye on him as Skwisgaar wandered away to call Mark. Toki listened to Skwisgaar's end of the conversation: "Mark, I needs a favor." "What does you means? I ams de only good things about this band!" An extended period of silence, then Skwisgaar gave the address and said, "Come as fastly as you cans."

Skwisgaar made a noise of exasperation and slid his phone into his pocket, then returned to the curb. He sat at Toki's side and took one of his hand in his. They looked after Pickles, who didn't do much but loll his head about, until Mark pulled up in a van. He looked annoyed, hair mussed like he'd been sleeping and didn't bother to brush it. This was supported by his checkered pajama pants and plain black, soft-looking shirt. He also wasn't wearing shoes, which Toki was certain was illegal while driving.

"It's one in the fuckin' mornin'," Mark grumbled as Skwisgaar and Toki lifted Pickles into the passenger seat. Toki buckled him in, feeling weird for having roles reversed, and then got in the back along with Skwisgaar. They didn't bother with seatbelts for themselves.

"So the nights ams just beginningks," Skwisgaar said, smiling at Mark.

"Maybe for you delinquents," Mark said, not really even trying to say it under his breath. He began to drive and turned the radio on, a soft classic rock station floating in the air. "Where am I supposed to drop these fuckers off?" He asked; these fuckers were assumed to mean Pickles and Toki.

Skwisgaar looked at Toki, asking for the answer himself. Toki gave Mark the address to Nathan's house, where he told his parents he was spending the night, then settled into Skwisgaar for the rest of the ride. Mark took them to Nathan's house and waited in the car, bitching to nobody in particular, as Skwisgaar and Toki carried Pickles upstairs and tucked him into bed. Pickles had passed out fully by now and they made sure to put him on his side and place a nice glass of water and some headache pills by the bed. Toki took off his kitty-ear headband and placed it around the glass of water.

"Where ams you goingks to sleep?" Skwisgaar asked Toki in a hushed voice as Toki pulled the blankets over Pickles's body. They had removed his shirt for him, and he was scrawny and innocent under the covers, curled in a loose fetal position. Toki felt a surge of fondness for his friend, followed by utter exhaustion. Toki was completely sober by then and tired from the day's activities.

"Downstairs in de basement," Toki whispered back. He looked at Pickles one last time and then exited the room. Skwisgaar walked with him to the bottom of the stairs.

"I guesses dis is goodbyes," Skwisgaar said. He had one hand on the stair post and was leaning into Toki, close to him. He kissed him. "I doesn't wants it to be."

Toki shook his head. "Me neither," he said. "When ams I goingks to be seeingks you again?" He put a hand on Skwisgaar's arm and kissed him again, needily this time, swirling his tongue around in his mouth. He wanted Skwisgaar to stay.

"Next weekend," Skwisgaar said as he pulled back from Toki. "I will meets you here. Friday. Four o'clock. Your parents ams not allowingks you to have a cell phone."

Toki shook his head and swallowed down the anger that spiked inside him at being reminded of this fact.

"So I ams guesesingks you ams not knowingks your friends' numbers," Skwisgaar continued. He sighed and rubbed his temples. "Your friends, dey ams weirds."

Toki nodded. "I knows," he said. They were still speaking softly so as to not wake the sleeping members of the household, and it felt as strange as the rest of the night, but Toki liked it. "But they ams my friends, and I loves them." He let out a long exhalation, blowing a piece of hair away from his face and feeling the extent to which he was exhausted in every part of his body.

Skwisgaar ran a thumb down Toki's jawline and then leaned in to kiss him one last time. "Whats an oddsical night," he said. He took Toki in a tight hug, pressing their bodies together. Toki rested his head against Skwisgaar and held onto him. He really did want him to stay.

"I had a good time," Toki said into the fabric of Skwisgaar's shirt. Skwisgaar, still holding Toki, leaned back and looked him over. He smiled a fond little smile.

"Me too. Well, goodbyes, Toki. Sleep tights. Don't let de bed bugs bite." And with that. Skwisgaar was gone.

Toki locked the door after him and put a frozen pizza in the oven. He propped himself up on the kitchen counter and dozed until the smell of pizza was too strong to ignore and pulled him from his slumber. He carried the pizza down with him to the basement and ate the whole thing without cutting it as he watched television, first the news, then a sitcom that was sort of funny. He briefly considered trying to jack off again and desired that he was too tired to, then stretched out on the couch underneath a soft quilt and an even softer pillow, both of which he found in the closet. He was stripped down to his boxers, hoodie, shorts shoes and socks all stranded between the couch and television, and the combined softness of blanket, couch and pillow felt heavenly. He finally fell asleep with a full stomach to a children's cartoon on Disney channel, arms wrapped around the remote. What an oddsical day indeed.


	7. Anniesvarsity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really like this chapter but oh well, what can you do. I can't believe I've written seven chapters and 80k words of this. It's a good thing but, just, wow. This is the most I've stuck with one project and it's really sort of weird, I guess. Also I think I'm addicted to ending chapters with characters going to sleep. I should work on that.

Thanksgiving was of no importance to the Wartooth family. As far as Toki could tell his parents were almost completely apathetic towards America, interested in the country solely for the opportunity to expand their brand of Protestantism beyond the borders of Norway. Toki liked America well enough; he didn't know shit about the politics, but he loved his friends, appreciated how much more there was to do here than in his old abandoned village, and thought his life had improved with the move. Toki wanted to give thanks for that, but if he was going to give thanks to the cause of the upturn in his life, it was going to have to be his parent's religion, not the country that it decided to move them to. Toki didn't like Thanksgiving for an entirely separate reason-he had a week's break from school.

Breaks made Toki nervous. He tended to get the most severe punishments over breaks, lashings across his skin that would weep blood for hours after the whip hit, baskets of stones placed on top of his shoulders to build up strength and break down soul, constellations of big and ugly bruises running down his arms and legs. The previous summer alone he had received black eyes so swollen he couldn't see through them twice and has his arm twisted something nasty that hurt for the most of the two months he had off from school. He supposed that his parents saw the days off as an opportunity to separate him from society, and once separated nobody would be able to see the marks. Toki knew it made sense and somehow that made it so much worse.

This particular break Toki found himself lucky. He was extra careful in his daily chores and whatever other nonsense his parents decided to throw at him (he would never understand why they liked for him to put odd pieces of furniture together just to return them to the store later) to the point that they could literally find no fault. His age and increasing strength and stamina aided in this greatly; what would've broken the back of his younger, scrawnier self only gave his current self a good workout. His father was absent for a lot of the break, on religious excursions, and when he was home Toki was quiet, not speaking a word to his parents at all and making no noise in the house. He ate his meals with meticulous manners and spent time in his room, though not too much time as to not raise suspicions. He played the role of model son. He went to church and sat in the front pews, hair braided down his back, hands folded and head bowed in prayer. He prayed to a god he didn't believe in that the time would pass by as fast as fucking possible.

He could feel irritation under his skin and a scream sitting just underneath his chin. He scratched at his own skin, restlessness taking roost in all of his nooks and crannies. His thought pattern devolved into a series of snarls and shouts. He tried to exert the excess energy through his chores and failed. He couldn't just sit inside all day in quiet meditation, rereading the same books and stooping to redoing his homework three times each, going to bed at eight just to wake up at eight and repeat the cycle over and over again. He hoped that his friends (and Skwisgaar) were growing concerned for him. but he knew they weren't. They knew that Toki's parents were sort of weird, that they liked having their son home. They didn't know why of course, but years of experience (in the case of his friends) led them to understand that when school was not in session, Toki would not be in their presence. Toki was inwardly moody, outwardly the perfect son, and on the verge of something drastic.

He found solace in the ringing of a phone. He was in his room, door open, sitting at his desk and staring at the wall, when the sound crept into the house. That was rare. Very few people called and their phone number was unlisted. Hope started to bloom but Toki stuffed it down, swallowing it back like the bile it so often turned out to be. His mother began to speak in English and hope fucking its way fought through his throat and sprang out his mouth-he bit down hard on his bottom lip to prevent himself from screaming in joy as his mother's raspy voice gave life to the words Mrs. Explosion. His mother came into his room five minutes later and stared at Toki in a way that usually deeply unsettled him but today did not; he nodded his head once and waited for her to leave before, as quietly as he could, throwing his fists into the air in triumph and twirling around his room. He shed the pressed white button-up he'd been wearing in favor of the first shirt in his pile of Going Out clothes, laced up a ratty pair of black low-top Converse, untied his hair from the ponytail it had been in, and fled. His father was not home; he was away for a few days, in another state, on church business. Toki suspected that had something to do with his lack of severe punishment so far this break and the excursion he was about to take.

He waited on his porch step for Nathan's truck, thanking every deity his brain could scrape up for the hot sun bathing him and whatever he was about to partake in. They could drag him to somewhere he would completely hate so much that he couldn't even think of such a place and he'd probably hug everybody who came several times over. He was seconds away from getting on his knees and rejoicing towards the sky when Nathan's truck pulled up to the curve. Windows down, Toki could see the usual three in their usual positions. He grinned-Pickles was the only one to return the gesture-and picked himself up from the steps, unable to hide the excited bounce in his walk as he got in the backseat.

"Operation Reschue Toki complete," Murderface said, voice flat. He rolled his eyes as he said it, but that didn't diminish Toki in the slightest. He vibrated with excitement and joy from head to toe and repeated "Thank you thank you thank you" over and over again until the words devolved into Norwegian. The others tolerated it for a minute until Nathan and Pickles sighed and Murderface slapped his hand over Toki's mouth.

"Do you know what today is, Toki?" Pickles asked. He had his knees to his chest in the passenger seat, fiddling with the radio; he was unable to find a station he liked and listened to each for about five seconds before moving to another.

Murderface withdrew his hand from Toki's mouth, allowing him to respond to Pickles's question. Toki thought for a second. "No clue," he said. He had lost track around Tuesday. He'd been avoiding clocks, too. They were painful.

"Dude, it'sch fucking Thankschgiving," Murderface said. He balked at Toki. He wasn't wearing a seat belt and had his legs splayed in a lewd fashion, phone between them. He drummed his fingers on the back of his phone and would flip it around to check for what Toki presumed to be a message every half-minute.

"Really?" Toki asked. Murderface and Pickles both nodded. He shrugged. "It's not that big of a deal."

There was a chorus of agreement. Murderface and Pickles exchanged a look that Toki interpreted to mean that he was right."I love the food," Nathan said. He turned onto a familiar street, and Toki recognized where they were headed. Dimmu Burger. Perfect. He was almost starting to believe in God.

"Anyway," Pickles continued. He seemed to have found a radio station he liked, sow low-grade and staticky metal swelling inside of the car, and leaned back, letting his legs down in front of him and stretching. Murderface pressed himself into the seat behind him to avoid getting hit with Pickles's hands as he stretched, though considering the size of Nathan's truck in comparison to the size of Pickles, that probably wouldn't have happened. "It's five o'clock in the evenin', so, you know, Thanksgiving's done. Dimmu's Burger open and doin' some holiday special thing. Here, to help with your appetite." Pickles bought his arms back to himself and dug a joint out of his pocket, turning to pass it to Toki and smiling. He lit it between their hands.

Toki inhaled and closed his eyes. "Perfect," he said, drawing the word out. "I love you guys." He exhaled, opened his eyes, and watched the smoke twist in the air in front of him before slowly fading out, then inhaled again to repeat the process. He'd missed weed in the last six days, even if he'd gone longer without it while having access to it. It was the idea, the meaning behind the marijuana, and the freedom to bring it into his body, he thought. He examined the joint between his fingers-Pickles had rolled it with pumpkin flavored rolling papers in the spirit of the holiday season-and decided that, yes, that was it. That, and he loved the drug, he really did.

"Could you not be scho gay for juscht one day, Toki?" Murderface said. He checked his phone again, then flipped it over hard enough that it bounced off the seat Toki shrugged and took another drag, pinching the joint between his fingers. He wasn't high at all yet, but he felt too high to care about Murderface's half-assed insults. Murderface was preoccupied with grumbling and groping about the floor of Nathan's truck for his phone; his message seemed to have finally come as a loud vibration came from somewhere below.

"You know," Pickles said, "I could ask of you the same, William." Pickles took a drag from a joint he had procured for himself, smoke rolling from his mouth as he began to laugh at his own joke. The entire truck was becoming clouded with smoke, air thick with the smell of marijuana and pumpkin, a gray haze hanging in the air. Murderface suffered a coughing fit; Toki didn't know if it was from the air quality or because of what Pickles said, but he felt safe in saying it was probably a combination of both. Murderface looked particularly gross, red and sweaty in the face with his hair frizzing out of control, and with his social consciousness lowered with every puff, Toki moved away from him.

"I'm," Murderface said, grunting as he paused in his groping and the muscles in his arms tightened like he had wrapped his fingers around something, "not," he sat up, pulling a half-empty bottle of tequila with him, "the one with a boyfriend. What the fuck isch thisch? Where the fuck isch my phone?" He held the bottle of tequila by the neck and turned it around, reading the label. From what Toki could see it was legitimate Mexican tequila, amber liquid sloshing inside as Murderface looked at it, the label written entirely in Spanish.

"Hey, cool, you found my tequila," Nathan said at the same time Pickles said, "Are you sure you don't have a boyfriend?" Nathan took a hand off the wheel and reached back. Murderface put the tequila in his hand and Pickles grabbed it, giving Nathan a look and screwing the lid off to drink from it. Pickles made his way through half of what remained and put the bottle between his legs, all the while staring at Nathan quite pointedly.

"You guysch schuck," Murderface said. He returned his arm to beneath the seat, brows furrowed. He was working up a ridiculous sweat just from the task and had his tongue between his lips in concentration. Toki wanted to inch further away but his back was against the door, seatbelt twisted around his body. Becoming aware of his uncomfortability, Toki unwrapped himself from his seatbelt. It proved to be a harder task than he anticipated.

"I think you guys are great," Toki said, finally extricating himself from the seatbelt. It was true though at the moment he was repulsed with half of the contents of the car. He reclined in his seat to the point that his knees were pressing into the back of Nathan's, his chin on his chest, much more comfortable, and inhaled again. He rolled the joint around in the palm of his hand, fascinated with how something so small could have such a profound effect on his mood.

"Thank you, Toki," Pickles said, turning to smile at him.. Pickles stashed the tequila underneath the passenger's seat and drew his legs into the seat again, feet perched on the edge and arms around his knees. He smoked on.

Murderface sat upright, his fingers wrapped around his shitty phone, and howled in success. He checked the message and constructed a short reply before returning his phone to its position between his legs. Toki watched it with half a smile on his face. All of the stress from the past six days poured out of him like blood from a lashing wound; his wound-up brain began to unwind; his muscles relaxed. Murderface and Pickles were strung in activity on their side of the car but on Nathan and Toki's there was calm, and Toki was content. There was maybe only one thing that could make this better and that would be Skwisgaar sitting beside him but for now he was ecstatic to just be amongst people that he liked, smoking a blunt and on his way to good food. They were close to Dimmu Burger and he'd be eating greasy, unhealthy, utterly delicious shit soon. The emptiness he felt would be filled.

"So, guys, have I missed anything?" Toki asked. He readjusted himself so he was sitting normally, having had been in danger of slipping out of his seat. He held the joint in one hand in his lap, feeling sufficiently stoned.

"Skwisgaar called me, looking for you," Nathan said. Toki listened for signs of annoyance in his voice and there were none; it just sounded like Nathan. Toki's half-smiled turned full and something inside of him perked; it felt like hope but happier, maybe. Fueled by it, he was able to ignore Pickles's eyes rolling. "I told him, you know, that your parents are really weird and shit. And that they, like-Pickles, what was the word?"

"Sever." Pickles said through a mouthful of smoke, his head flat against his knees and turned towards Nathan. His eyes were lidded and unfocused in the direction of Nathan's face, a couple of different expressions formed halfway on his own. Toki didn't spend too much time trying to figure out what they were, as Nathan was speaking about Skwisgaar, and that took priority in Toki's mind. He leaned forward and listened to the rest of what Nathan had to say.

"Yeah. How they, like, sever you from other people over the holiday." Nathan jerked his head to get some hair out of his face and pulled the truck into the Dimmu Burger parking lot. Toki was absolutely buzzing with excitement.

"That was all?" Toki may have felt disappointment had the day not already been so perfect. He leaned back into his seat and, realizing where he was, unbuckled his seatbelt. He gave the joint back for Pickles to store away.

"That was all," Pickles said, yawning and unrolling his body. Murderface snorted, his thumbs moving across his phone. They all exited the truck and fell in line side-by-side. The parking lot to Dimmu Burger was void of vehicles despite their holiday special which was just fine to Toki. Toki slung an arm around Murderface and Pickles on both sides of him; Murderface screeched and removed himself from Toki's grip at once while Pickles put an arm around Toki's waist. They were stoned out of their fucking minds at this point, eyes rimmed red and faces drawn into two equally lazy grins.

Nathan paid for Toki's portion of the food. The four of them didn't order separately, instead purchasing mounds of greasy, unhealthy shit that almost glimmered with appeal. Nathan and Pickles carried the two trayfuls of paper bags and polystyrene cups to a booth against the windows. They dropped the trays on the table and slid themselves into one side of the booth, Toki sitting opposite Nathan and Murderface opposite Pickles. Four sets of teenage hands grabbed for the mountain of Dimmu Burger's delicious food; Toki came back with a carton of eight chicken nuggets and a cup of what he found to be vanilla milkshake upon sipping. Another blind groping found himself a large container of French fries that he pulled just seconds before Murderface's fat fingers could wrap around it. Toki withdrew his arms and sat back, sticking his tongue out at Murderface while he made a show of lowering a single French fry down upon it. Murderface mumbled something incoherent and insulting before busying his mouth with the huge hamburger now clasped in his hands.

"This is fuckin' awesome," Pickles said, sucking on the end of a straw. He had the lid off of his own chocolate milkshake and two things of fries beside him, waiting to be dipped. Toki watched as Pickles tongued the end of the straw, his eyes on Murderface, begging him to say something. Murderface did not deliver, rolling his eyes and averting them somewhere behind Pickles, munching non-stop on his hamburger.

"Totally," Nathan said. He secured an equal forth of the food with one beefy arm curled around his pile, protecting it. His other hand was shaking the remains of a carton of French fries into his mouth.

"We just spent sixty bucks at Dimmu Burger," Pickles said, lowering a French fry into his milkshake. He waved it around and made a dramatic show of plopping it into his mouth before saying, "and it was fuckin' awesome."

"You guys are fuckin' awesome," Toki said, smiling as wide as his face would allow as he ate his food. He made eye contact with his friends one by one-Murderface shifted in his seat before gnashing his teeth at him, Pickles returned his smile, and Nathan did nothing of note-and sighed. "I just, I loves you all so much!"

"Love," Nathan said, the word coming out as a disgusted grunt. "The word is love."

"That's what's I says," Toki said. He wasn't really see the problem, language skills cloaked in the haze of his high and happiness. He looked at Nathan, confusion in every feature in his face, and sucked his milkshake through the straw in loud and continuous motion..

"The fuck is wrong with the way you're talkin'?" Murderface said, giving Toki a strange expression. He used Toki's confusion as cover to take his fries from him; Toki dipped his hand into the space where a carton of French fries was and looked down.

"De fucks, Moidaface!" He screeched, lunging at Murderface to retrieve his French fries. Murderface fell to the floor, corpulent body pinned between Toki and the cheap, stained tile, their legs tangled and hooked on the booth. Murderface's fingers were wrapped around the carton of fries, though the contents of the carton was splayed on the ground behind him. Toki didn't notice that and took the carton from Murderface's hand while Murderface foamed at the mouth with general rage. That was when Toki noticed the carton was empty, noticed that his stomach and Murderface's were pressed together in an uncomfortably tight way, and also that there were precious French fries on the floor. He rolled off of Murderface, who sprang up and stood dumbfounded. Still on his stomach, Toki tried, in vain, to collect the scattered French fries.

The staff of Dimmu Burger paused in their duties behind the counter to watch the events play out, mildly amused. This was not the first time Toki and his friends had caused a ruckus in the restaurant. Sometimes, if there were a lot of customers around to bitch about the boys, they were kicked out, but sometimes, if they were the only ones there or they knew the customers wouldn't bitch, they'd just let Toki and his friends do whatever. So they went on doing whatever, Toki shuffling French fries back into the carton and Murderface going on about things that nobody could understand through his lisp.

"Dude," Nathan said, "and you say Toki talks weird." He shook his head.

Pickles was laughing hard, head down and fist banging the table. Toki finally collected all of the French fries and stood. Nathan had the sense to tell him that he probably shouldn't eat them and Toki, trusting Nathan, threw them away in the nearby trash can. He straightened his clothes and his hair out, brushing filth from his pants and fixing his precious over-the-shoulder hairstyle, before maneuvering around a slowly quieting Murderface and sliding himself into the booth again.

Toki took another carton of French fries from the mound of food in the middle of the table, which was diminishing at a depressingly fast rate, and grabbed a fistful to shove in his mouth. Murderface reached a state of calm and sat back in the booth, though at an angle and distance away from Toki, and returned to his own food, still red in the face. Pickles noticed the lack of commotion and raised his head. There were tear stains running the length of his face, he'd been crying so hard, and the part of the table where his head had been was damp. He wiped away the moisture with a napkin, both on his and the table's face, that he then crumpled up and threw behind him. It landed on the ground.

"Ah, man," Pickles said, a hint of a wheeze to his voice.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, everybody enjoying their food and seemingly in competition as to who would eat the most, though it was obvious the winner would be either Nathan or Murderface. Toki had to pause after his fourth milkshake, feeling a little fuzzy around the edges and sort of lightheaded. The problem fixed itself when he made his way through a cheeseburger but after that he was finished, feeling full and, as he often did after large meals, sleepy. He rested his head on the booth beside him and had almost fallen asleep when he heard the conversation turn to something that he was quite interested in talking about: his boyfriend.

"Toki, how long have you been dating Skwisgaar?" This was Pickles. Toki snapped his head forward and opened his eyes to see Pickles looking serious, his fingers interlocked on the table in front of him. Combined with his scraggly attempt at a goatee, Pickles looked like a mafia boss from a cheap knock-off of the Godfather or maybe a corporate boss from a film where he'd end up with his ass kicked by the female worker he'd been sexually harassing.

"What's today's date?" Toki asked in response, resting an elbow on the table and inserting his cheek into the palm of his hand. With his other hand he twirled a strand of his hair around.

"The twenty-eighth," Pickles said.

"Wells," Toki began, all the while twirling his hair around his hand, "almost a month, den. I says our anniversary ams de thirty-first, 'cause it was aftermidnights, but Skwisgaar says it ams de thirtieth, because dat's when our date was and dat's when he had de intention to ask me outs."

"Okay, seriously, why the fuck are you talking like that?" Nathan said. He'd been content in his corner with his food, but now he became interested in the conversation, eyes on Toki as he pushed around empty fast food cartons on the table.

"Yeah," Pickles said, eyebrows narrowing. He sucked his cheek in. "You're talking like-Skwisgaar! Like your boyfriend!" His face lit up like he came to a realization and he jumped in his seat.

"Didn't you use to talk thisch way when you firscht moved from Norway?" was Murderface's weary contribution.

Toki began to feel claustrophobic, like all of his friends were closing in on him, and he shrank in his seat, sliding down and against it. He really hadn't noticed the lingual slippage he'd been prone to lately, especially not when stoned or around Skwisgaar. He thought for a few seconds that he was going to burst into tears, then dismissed that as ridiculous and probably a side effect of his high.

"Well?" Pickles said, asking for an answer to a question that none of them had really pinpointed. He hadn't taken his hands out of their interlocked state and flexed them upwards as he spoke. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

Toki ran a hand through his hair and used the other to push off his seat and return him to a normal sitting position. He smiled, sheepish, and concentrated on using the correct English in his reply. "I hadn't really noticed," he said, and he it said it slow, but he said it correctly.

"It's weird that Skwisgaar has, like, the same English thing as you do," Nathan said. He paused in pushing around wrappers and cartons after discovering a forgotten handful of fries and dipped them in barbecue sauce before eating them.

"Maybe it'sch schome gay Schcandinavian thing," Murderface suggested.

"I didn't know you knew what Scandinavia was," Pickles said, and he turned his attention towards Murderface. Toki felt relief at that and expressed it with a sigh that went unnoticed in his friends.

"I'm not a retard," Murderface said. Pickles seemed to consider this, finally taking his hands out from each other and stroking his chin. "I know schtuff! Eschpeschially, like, hischtory schtuff! Schandinavia hasch really brutal hischtory. The World Warsch! Vikingsch! It'sch a wonder how Toki ended up so unmetal."

Murderface waved his hands around in the air while he ranted. Toki, engaged by the mentioning of his precious homeland, surged with anger at being called unmetal and grabbed one of Murderface's wrists between his thumb and index finger at it went flying through the air. between their heads Murderface's wrist was as girthy as the rest of him but Toki's fingers were strong and he pinned it between them with ease, bringing Murderface's hand slamming into the table. Murderface yelped and then swallowed, turning to look at Toki; Toki stared him down, eyes narrowed. "Don't you ever fucking call me unmetal," Toki said. He released Murderface's hand and put his own in his lap, a smile returning to his face.

Nathan and Pickles were unsurprised by Toki's actions, Pickles's lips drawn up into an amused and satisfied curve, Nathan leaning against the window, bored. They'd seen Toki act in violence before and the situation in front of them wasn't even that interesting or great of a display. Toki hadn't meant for it to be.

"Well," Murderface said. He seemed a little shaken and was rubbing at his hand. Toki snorted; he hadn't even handled Murderface that hard, and could've done a lot worse if he meant it. "I think it might be time for usch to go."

The only things left in the middle of the table were scraps, half-eaten hamburgers and cartons with the inedibly charred French fries poking out, things they'd bought but hadn't actually wanted. They exchanged nods with each other in agreement to Murderface's suggestion and removed themselves from the table. On the way in they'd been bustling with energy, knocking against each other and eager for the food; on the way out they were sluggish and moved slow, heavy food in their stomachs lugging them down. Toki felt three steps from sleep and dozed off in Nathan's truck, cheek against the window and knees having fallen open to the sides, too lethargic to even sit with a semblance of decency. He was not the only one; Murderface snored, waking Toki up every few minutes with his horrible nasal sounds, but even Pickles was unable to withdraw Murderface from his food coma with that fingernail trick he was prone to using. Pickles sighed and turned around. Toki might've dreamed it during his nap, or imagined it in the seconds between waking up and returning to sleep, but he thought he saw Nathan's arm around Pickles's seat.

Pickles was able to wake Toki up long enough to exit Nathan's truck when they were at his house. It was getting dark outside, the sun nowhere to be seen and everything tinged a bluish gray but not black, and Toki rubbed at his eyes while he walked up the pathway to his porch. He watched Nathan's truck grow smaller and then disappear down the street before opening his door. He took his shoes off and carried them to his room, where he somehow had the sense of mind to set them down noiselessly, remove his clothes, fold them in the laundry bin, turn off the light and shut his door before passing out again. He slept the rest of his high and whatever ill side effects he might've suffered from an indulgence in fast food off and awoke later the next day than he had all break, sometime around nine-thirty in the morning. He woke up feeling confused, certain that he'd dreamed the whole experience. It took seeing his battered old Converse at the foot of his bed to convince him that it had actually happened and when he was convinced, he smiled.

Nothing interesting happened on Friday or the majority of Saturday. His father returned from his religious excursion late Saturday evening. The first thing he did was check Toki's chore progress but he was unable to find a fault. Toki expected this to be a good thing, but his father seemed upset by this, and granted Toki two sentences about his lack of godliness and whatever other contrived bullshit he believed to be plaguing Toki. Toki endured it-his father could make two sentences into five minutes of torture-and retired to his room for the night feeling grateful that his father hadn't expressed his dissatisfaction via more corporal means. He fell into an easy sleep that night, laying on his side with a knee drawn up and an arm wrapped underneath his pillow.

Toki often slept through the nights, plentiful and refreshing deep sleep, with dreams that he couldn't remember in the morning. He had figured this to be a result of his constant physical exercise, which he had heard resulted in good nights' rest. Combined with the fact that he was a teenager, he never found it hard to sleep and sleep for upwards of eleven uninterrupted hours every night. Thus, when something hitting his window woke him up in the middle of the night he was alarmed, but alert. He removed himself from his bed with caution, padding to the window from a safe distance and peering out into the darkness.

He jumped, a hand fleeing to cover his mouth and mask his exclamation of surprise, when he saw a face in the window.

He calmed only the slightest amount when he realized he recognized the face. Skwisgaar Skwigelf had a way of standing out in a featureless black landscape, probably because of the general lightness of his feature, pale skin glowing in the moonlight and blond hair turned almost transparent. He tapped against the glass again and mouthed something that Toki couldn't read; Toki sighed. Before he did anything he slipped on the shirt he'd been wearing the night before, a plain white t-shirt that came in packs from a department store, and stuffed some more underneath his door to block out the light he turned on in case his parents decided to come downstairs and wander past his doorway. He then turned on the light, flipping the switch and watching the yellowish-orange imitation of daylight spill across his furniture and floor. Once properly prepared to let Skwisgaar into his room he actually did it, lifting the window open and moving back to give Skwisgaar some room. He offered his arm for Skwisgaar to support himself as he slid through the window but Skwisgaar didn't take it until he was fully into the room, at which point he yanked Toki towards him and buried his head in Toki's hair, wrapping his arms low on Toki's waist.

Toki pulled back soon after Skwisgaar did that, giving him an incredulous look. "What the hell?" He hissed, but its dramatic impact was lessened by the fact that he had to whisper.

"It ams de thirtiest," Skwisgaar explained. He wasn't looking at Toki but around his room, surveying Toki's dwellings. There wasn't much for him to look at and Toki didn't feel embarrassed or anything. "Dis ams your room? It ams so...depressingks." He spoke at his normal volume, which was sort of loud for a human being anyway, and Toki reached up to put a hand on his mouth to muffle his speech.

"Be quiet!" He whisper-hissed again. He could feel the muscles of Skwisgaar's face moving and saw a smile reach his eyes. Skwisgaar licked Toki's hand, moving his tongue in a slow, deliberate fashion, and Toki felt blood surging both northward and southward. Toki took his hand away at once. "What ams you doing here?" He asked, no longer hissing but still speaking quietly.

Skwisgaar stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Toki again, this time keeping a distance so they could look at each other while they talked. "It ams our anniesvarsity," he said.

Toki wanted to be mad at him, he did, but the endearing mispronunciation of anniversary and the way Skwisgaar was looking at him was making it very hard to. "It's not our anniversary," he said. He counted the days since Thursday, dinner with his friends, the twenty-eighth, and then looked at the clock he had in his room, confirming that it was still before midnight. "It's the thirtieth. And November doesn't have a thirty-first."

"Silly Tokis," Skwisgaar said. He withdrew a hand and bopped Toki on the nose, which is something Toki knew Skwisgaar wouldn't be caught dead doing in public, once again making it hard for Toki to be mad at him. "Our anniesvarsity is de thirtieth."

Toki sighed and put both hands on Skwisgaar's chest, freeing himself of his grip as gently as he could. He walked to the bed and sat down, indicating in what he thought was a coy manner for Skwisgaar to join him. Skwisgaar, always eager to be on a bed with a romantic partner, joined Toki, and put an arm around him.

"We ams not goingks to be one of dos ecouples dat ams sappy about anniesvarsities," Skwisgaar said, tilting Toki's chin up with a single finger to ensure he looks him in the eyes, "but dis ams an important one. For mes."

"Why?" Toki asked. "It's only a month. Not even really a month, since our anniversary is the thirty-first, even."

"Dis ams de longest relationships I ams ever beingks in," Skwisgaar said.

"Really?" Toki said. He was surprised at that, for such the sexual being Skwisgaar was.

He was even more surprised to see Skwisgaar avert his eyes, lips turning down just the slightest bit. "If I ams goingks to be honest," he began, speaking more to the floor than to Toki, "dis is de only real relationships I have been in." Toki found this endearing and took ahold of Skwisgaar's face, bringing it back so that he could kiss him for the first time of the night. Toki continued to be surprised as Skwisgaar broke the kiss off-Skwisgaar didn't tend to do that until at least five minutes had passed. "I mights-ugh-I has somethingk for yous," Skwisgaar said. His lip curled like he was appalled at himself.

"Really?" Toki said again, eyes widening and face brightening. He liked gifts. His face fell when he realized that he didn't have anything to give back to Skwisgaar, but before he could tell him this Skwisgaar had produced a package from the pockets of his jeans and placed it in Toki's hands.

Toki looked down at the thing in his hands. It was an unwrapped and unopened plastic sheath containing a shitty pre-bought cell phone that looked like it cost twenty bucks from a department store. To Toki, it was the best thing in the world, and he put it on the bed as he went to kiss Skwisgaar again. This kiss lasted longer but was still quite chaste and, again, Skwisgaar broke it off. This was beginning to frustrate Toki. He wasn't used to being cockblocked by his own boyfriend.

"It ams gettingks old to talks to yous friends all de time," Skwisgaar said. "Not dat I ams not likingks dem," he added when he noticed Toki's distressed face. "But now we ams ables to talk on de phone and makes plans and what has you." He seemed torn between self-satisfaction, trying to appear haughty, and disbelief and disgust at himself for actually doing something nice, and the result was a cute, socially stunted face.

"I loves it," Toki said into Skwisgaar's ear, a hand on his thigh. He drew back as Skwisgaar went to neck him, thinking that was the end of their conversation on the matter. It was his turn to be a tease. "I don't have anything for yous, though." He furrowed his brow in sincere frustration. He liked giving-though he did also enjoy receiving-and didn't much appreciate the awkward situation of being given a gift when he didn't have one to give in return.

Skwisgaar only shrugged. "I really do not cares," he said. "I prefers dat, actually." Toki studied his expression and deemed it neutral enough to conclude that Skwisgaar really did not care. There were a few seconds of silence in which Skwisgaar leaned down to kiss Toki, drawing a leg up on the bed and moving towards the other boy, but Toki leaned back, smiling.

"It was so nice of you to get me something," Toki said. It was, but he was really just trying to get Skwisgaar riled up. He found that if they spent more time bantering than sweet-talking, their make-out sessions would be ultimately more rewarding, and it was fun to poke and prod at Skwisgaar. For all he claimed to be, carried himself to be, and built himself up to be, Toki could break him down and get him rather ruffled

"Well, you do acts like a lady, and de ladies always like de gifts," Skwisgaar said. He leaned into Toki so that he was noticeably leaning forward and Toki noticeably leaning back, making an angle of their spines to the bed.

"I think you am de ladies," Toki said. He leaned in so that their bodies pressed together but his forehead rested on Skwisgaar's shoulder and he was speaking to his collarbones. "Remembering when de anniesvarsity is."

Skwisgaar didn't bother responding to that, just put both hands on Toki's shoulder and moved him down into the mattress. Toki reminded him to be quiet as they shifted their bodies into something more comfortable, Skwisgaar leaning against the wall behind Toki's bed-he didn't have a headboard-and Toki sitting in front of him. They'd been doing this for long enough that any awkwardness, if there had been awkwardness in the beginning, had disappeared. Toki leaned down into Skwisgaar and connected their mouths, putting both hands flat against his chest but keeping their lower halves apart in a taunting amount of distance. They wasted no times in moving their tongues into each other's mouths, rubbing them against each other and licking across the other's teeth. Skwisgaar tasted like he always did, mint that had gone a bit stale during the course of the day, and Toki was certain that his mouth probably tasted like shit even if he had brushed his teeth before going to bed, but Skwisgaar certainly didn't seem to mind. Skwisgaar's hands were on Toki's hips in such an arousingly casual way, his thumbs hooked into the waistband of Toki's flannel pajama pants, like they belonged there. Toki bought himself closer at the same time Skwisgaar pulled, like they'd both come to that realization simultaneously.

Toki wrapped his fingers in Skwisgaar's hair and tugged, whining the quietest he could make his whine into Skwisgaar's mouth, and Skwisgaar responded by taking his mouth from Toki's and placing it on the place where his neck and shoulder met, instead. He moved the neckline of Toki's shirt, which was already too big and slipping anyway, down, and started to lap at his skin, getting it slick before nibbling and then, finally, sucking. Toki mirrored his action but higher on Skwisgaar's neck, somewhere just below and behind his ear, to stop himself from making any noise that would attract his parents. Though the worry remained in his mind he did the best he could to push his parents out of his mind at this particular moment in time. Toki wrapped a hand around Skwisgaar's shoulder-he was wearing a wifebeater, so Toki slipped his thumb beneath the thin piece of fabric and rubbed-and bit his neck.

They continued at this pace, adjusting hands to rub and feel at various parts, mouths working on each other's faces and torsos, until Toki had ended up on his back with Skwisgaar above him, supporting himself with a hand on either side of Toki's head. They were both hard by now and Toki wasn't sure what was going to happen, their hips quirking against each other's in search of friction. It was past midnight and he'd yet to be caught and had come to the conclusion that unless one of them screamed he wasn't going to be, which was sort of liberating, and definitely information useful to the future. Skwisgaar had lost his wifebeater at some point, now located somewhere on the floor to the right of Toki's bed, and Toki's own shirt was pushed up to expose his stomach and the beginning of what would become a good set of abs, though he never removed his shirt. (He wanted to have the conversation about the scars at a time when they weren't making out, and a good time had yet to present itself. He wasn't avoiding it so much as he was putting it off). He wasn't about to protest when Skwisgaar's hand lowered between them, a single finger pulling at the band of Toki's pajama pants.

Skwisgaar withdrew his face from Toki's, asking him the silent question, and Toki craned his head up so he could provide an adequate nod. His dick somehow seemed to harden even beyond its current point, which was pretty goddamn hard and visibly leaking precum into his pajama pants-Toki didn't wear underwear when he sleep-at the prospect of actually getting some relief. It would be the first time. They readjusted themselves so they could be comfortable, Skwisgaar laying beside Toki on his side while Toki remained on his back, Skwisgaar leaning up. Toki looked at him like this, his legs curled up because they were too long for Toki's bed, and thought that he looked so great like this, that this was the best thing ever, as began to knead Toki through his pajama pants. Toki closed his eyes at that moment, too overcome with sensation, his hips already beginning to buckle. Skwisgaar stopped rubbing then and Toki cracked his eyes open, watching Skwisgaar's face so intent on what he was doing as he snuck his hand inside of Toki's pants, and then Toki's eyes were closed again, his hands grabbing fistfuls of his sheets, because somebody's hands were on his dick and they weren't his own and holy shit it felt good.

He'd expected Skwisgaar's hands to be cold for some reason but they weren't, they were as warm as the rest of him as he wrapped his long fingers around the base of Toki's cock and gave a quick, almost experimental, stroke. Toki opened his mouth, prepared to cry out, and Skwisgaar seemed to sense this, as he immediately stuck three of the fingers from the hand he wasn't using to jack Toki off into Toki's mouth. Toki didn't know what to make of that-his first instinct was to suck, but he was having a hard time making any part of his body that wasn't his hips move-so Skwisgaar removed his fingers from Toki's mouth, drew them around Toki's lips, smearing his own saliva around his mouth, and then put his palm over Toki's mouth to keep him quiet. Toki went back to focusing on Skwisgaar's hand on his dick, working up and down at a steady pace, long and strong guitar player's hands, God, he didn't have thoughts for this. Any coherent thought was long gone, replaced by acting on primal instinct in response to stimuli, and a foreign hand on his cock was the single most stimulating thing Toki had ever felt. Skwisgaar took his hand from his mouth to roll Toki's pajama pants down his hips, exposing his cock to the light of day. Toki didn't bother looking, keeping his eyes squeezed shut. He knew what his own dick looked like. He only made a noise of indignation, begging Skwisgaar to replace his hands, and Skwisgaar did.

Skwisgaar put his fingers back in Toki's mouth, only two this time, and Toki played with them with his tongue while Skwisgaar continued to stroke up and down. He stopped doing that near the top, and Toki was about to whine in protest, until he realized that Skwisgaar was rubbing his thumb around the head while moving his hand up and down in shorter spurts, and Toki wasn't about to protest that feeling at all. He snapped his hips upward, fucking Skwisgaar's hand again and again, until Skwisgaar got the message to go back to working the entire shaft. Within seconds of the combination of moving his own hips and Skwisgaar's increased rapidity Toki was cumming and for this his eyes bolted open, fingers grasping his sheets so hard that one fitted corner popped off his bed, his head tilting back and Skwisgaar's fingers shifting from being inside his mouth to covering it to suppress the groan that Toki could not.

Everything quieted, the flashes of lights that Toki saw when he came dulling, and Toki looked to see Skwisgaar's knuckles coated with Toki's cum and Skwisgaar looking at Toki from his position beside him. Skwisgaar looked smug, of course, but he almost leaned into Toki and kissed him, licking around his lips, in almost a fond gesture.

"You likes dat, ja?" Skwisgaar said. He withdrew his hand from where it had been resting against the crevice of Toki's thigh and put it into his back pocket, apparently wiping the cum off there. It was gross but kind of hot, Toki guessed. Definitely grunge. Toki was glad to have not gotten any cum on his pants or sheets-the majority of it seemed to still be on him or now in Skwisgaar's back pocket. Remembering that his pants were still a thing, he pulled them up.

Toki nodded in response to Skwisgaar's question when he remembered he asked one and bit his lip.

"I wishes I could says I remembers my first handjob," Skwisgaar said, still looking at Toki, "but I ams not ables to." Skwisgaar had the hand that had been in Toki's mouth on his chest, finger absently drawing a circle around one of Toki's nipples.

Toki eyed the bulge in Skwisgaar's jeans, which looked almost painful, and blurted, "Can I does you?"

To this Skwisgaar quirked an eyebrow and stopped drawing circles on Toki's chest, laying his hand flat. The others was resting on his own hip, the tips of his fingers still in his pocket. "Ams you ready to?"

Toki only looked at him, subtly implying that his boyfriend was an idiot with the way he drew his eyebrows.

"Of course you ams," Skwisgaar said. He took his hands from Toki and himself, rolling onto his back and putting his arms behind his head. This was apparently the signal for Toki to start.

Toki spent more time palming at Skwisgaar through his jeans, teasing, making a big deal of unbuttoning them, going back to palming, zipping them down just a tad, twisting, zipping a bit more, drumming his fingers lightly against the tip of the bulge, zipping again, squeezing hard. He was almost making a game of it, trying to elicit a response from Skwisgaar, who had his mouth open and eyes closed, seemingly experiencing pleasure but not voicing it. Toki yanked Skwisgaar's jeans and boxers down with force as opposed to the gentle way the other boy had rolled his own down and employed two hands in jerking Skwisgaar off, one to move up and down the shaft and the other to, at first, rattle his balls a bit. This, Skwisgaar seemed to enjoy in such a manner that called for vocal response, groaning just a bit in the back of his throat. Toki stopped stroking and squeezed, reminding Skwisgaar not to make noise, then went back to the task at hand. He moved his other finger from Skwisgaar's balls to the tip, smearing precum about while still using the other to move up and down. Skwisgaar thrashed his head to the side and slammed his mouth shut, hips beginning to buckle, and Toki took that hand away, using his right to move faster and faster until Skwisgaar came. It was weird watching somebody else cum in real life and Toki took the opportunity to fully take in Skwisgaar's dick: longer than his own but thinner, circumcised like his, generally an attractive specimen. It fit Skwisgaar, Toki thought, as he flounced on the bed beside him. He looked at his hand, covered in Skwisgaar's cum-he came less than Toki, and it was a few shades darker, which was sort of interesting-then at Skwisgaar himself.

"You're not going to leave now, are you?" Toki asked, voice small.

"Noes, of course not," Skwisgaar said, and he smiled. They were both on their backs, long hair splayed behind them in a sweaty mess, heads turned towards each other and looking at each other. Skwisgaar reached a hand out and stroked the outline of Toki's cheekbones, then realized that Toki's own hand was suspended between them, covered in semen. He let Toki wipe it off on Skwisgaar's jeans; Skwisgaar took the opportunity to pull them back up but left them unbuttoned and unzipped.

They were both spent, emotionally and physically, and so they laid on their backs on Toki's bed with their hair hanging off the mattress behind them and heels on their feet resting on the wall because they were too tall to stretch out, hands held between them. The room smelled like semen, but Skwisgaar said that would fade through the night. It was only one in the morning. It was weird to be up so late in his own house, artificial light contrasting against the starless blackness visible through the window outside, somebody else in his bed. The entire situation was weird if Toki put enough thought into it, but it was weird in such a wonderful way, a way he could get used to.

"How did you find my house?" Toki asked. The question had occurred to him when Skwisgaar had first come through the window, but he hadn't really had a chance to ask it until now.

"Yous friend Nathan," Skwisgaar said. He squeezed Toki's hand. "I talks to him sometimes. He ams a pretty cool guy."

"Yeah," Toki said, not sure why they were talking about Nathan of all things. He looked at Skwisgaar, who looked at him, and they smiled before returning their heads to the more comfortable position of looking straight up.

"I think he ams de only one of yous friends dat actuallies likes me," Skwisgaar said. Toki started to rub Skwisgaar's hand with his thumb, though Skwisgaar didn't seem affected by Toki's friends' lack of fondness for him. Toki thought they would warm up eventually, that they were always mistrustful and judgemental towards new people at first.

"I wish I could disagrees with yous," Toki said, and they both laughed, but it was quiet laughter with not a lot of gusto behind it.

"I wish I could stays here and sleeps with you-actuallies sleep," Skwisgaar said, hurrying to clarify himself. He sounded tired, voice a bit lower and more rumbling than usual, and Toki knew that that alone was more emotion than Skwisgaar spared in a normal day. Toki stopped rubbing his hand and gave Skwisgaar's an appreciative squeeze. Toki's other hand was on his stomach, covered again by his shirt, and Skwisgaar's was on his chest, still bare. Skwisgaar had no muscle definition but wasn't a skeleton; a fine body, Toki thought.

"Yeah," Toki said. "Me too." He let his eyes ease closed, let the muscles in his face relax.

"Yous parents musts be pretty cuckoos."

"They are," Toki said, and he signed, a long, deep sigh. He thought of bringing the scars up then, explaining everything, but it was late and he was tired. He barely had the energy to keep his eyes open, much less get into all of that.

Toki heard movement and cracked his eyes open just the slightest; Skwisgaar let go of Toki's hand and propped himself up on his elbow, placing a hand on Toki's stomach. He leaned into him and kissed him, but it was a soft kiss, not a hard one. "You has a nice O face," he said to Toki, and by the tone of his voice and the sincerity of his expression, Toki knew it to be true.

"You moved your head to the side," Toki said. He let his eyes open fully to watch Skwisgaar raise his eyebrows at him. Toki shrugged.

Skwisgaar laid back down on his back, but jumped a bit when his thigh seemed to hit something. He pulled whatever it was out from underneath him-the phone he'd given Toki, encased in plastic. "So dat ams what happened to dat," he said, handing it to Toki.

"We should sees what my new number ams," Toki said. He went to pull the plastic apart and failed, hands worn out. "Or not."

"Worry about it laters," Skwisgaar said, swatting his hand at the phone.

"Okays," Toki said, and he set it down by his bed. He'd put it underneath when Skwisgaar left, but he didn't want to think about Skwisgaar leaving at the moment. They rejoined their hands between them and moved closer so they could rest their heads together. They couldn't fall asleep and they knew that, but it was nice to pretend that they could for a little bit.

"Toki, you cant's falls asleep." Skwisgaar moved their entwined hands to nudge at Toki's hip, rolling more towards his side. Toki didn't open his eyes and Skwisgaar used his other hand to do that for him, keeping Toki's lids up with his thumb on one eye and his middle finger on the other.

"Okays." Toki tried to blink and couldn't, which made Skwisgaar smile a little bit. He moved Skwisgaar's hand away and vowed to keep his eyes open himself.

"Let's talks about somethingks," Skwisgaar said. He moved his thumb across Toki's face and down his jaw line, tracing Toki's finer features, and hooked a finger on his bottom lip just to do it. Toki did the best he could to give Skwisgaar a what the fuck expression.

"What did you do for Thanksgiving?" Toki spoke with Skwisgaar's finger hooked in his mouth, talking about the first subject that came to mind. Toki himself never did anything for Thanksgiving but he had this year, so it was fresh on his brain.

"Mark made us has a 'tranditional' Thanksgivingks. He cooked." Skwisgaar crinkled his nose. "Mark can'ts cook good.." He took his hand away from Toki's face and let it rest on his chest again.

"You knows, I do nots give a single fucks about Thanksgiving," Toki said. They held eye contact for a few seconds then burst out laughing,

"Me either," Skwisgaar said as the laughter died. He went back to stroking Toki's face.

They enjoyed each other's company for another half an hour, just lolling about and tracing patterns on the other's skin, before they made the decision that Skwisgaar had to go. Toki was tired and yearning to go back to sleep, but he pushed the phone underneath his bed and handed Skwisgaar his wifebeater with sadness written all over his face. Skwisgaar frowned in response, still holding his shirt in his arms, kissed him between his creased eyebrows. He slipped his shirt on and uttered a goodbye as he went out the window; Toki shut it as gently and as quietly as he could and watched Skwisgaar's pale figure disappear into the undefined darkness of the night. He wanted to give the events of the night decent thought, sort out feelings about what had happened, but he was tired, and all he could do was fix his sheets, retrieve his blanket from the floor, curl beneath it, and think about how weird and wonderful everything had been.


	8. The Claus Conspiracy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is really long. Even the author's notes are long. But not without reason! It's the Christmas chapter! Do you know how fucking hard it is to write a Christmas chapter during fucking summer? Thank goodness these are not sentimental characters because there is, like, minimal levels of Christmas sentiment in this chapter. Related: I came very close to naming this chapter Jesus Christmas. I still think that's funny.
> 
> In other news (whoa, paragraph break in the author's notes for the first time), somebody drew fanart for this story, specifically for a scene involving Nathan and Pickles near the end of chapter five. It's glorious. http://facebones.co.vu/post/59944021134/ok-so-the-other-day-i-read-attending-fuckface go look at it and freak out because I freaked the fuck out when I saw it.
> 
> Re: update schedule. Um. I was two days off from getting this out from the end of August and two weeks off from doing so before school started but that is because I started watching and fell in love with The X-Files to the point where I was spending twenty hours straight just watching the show. But I'm done with that now, so my fandom time can be more evenly spread out, and I'll start working on chapter nine, like, tomorrow. However, school has started up again and I'm in the IB program and that's rigorous etc etc etc. My goal when I started this story was to update once a month. Maybe I can update every two months. Who knows.
> 
> Sorry for rambling on so long. Sit back, try to feel Christmas-y in September, and enjoy the chapter.

Coldness came early in December. There had been bouts, days that dipped below eighty, scattered throughout November, but the bouts stretched into weeks and the temperature lowered as the month turned over, consistently hovering around the mid-sixties with highs in the seventies. The weather had the born-and-raised citizens of Florida bundling up, though those that moved from up north (like Pickles) or from another country (like Toki) were content, even more comfortable, in the cooler climate. Toki's parents noticed the change of weather and clothing of the citizens and began to get a little loose with his punishments. Bruises started on his shoulders and moved downwards until they were ringing his wrists. His calves were battered with his father's latest favorite, taking a flat wooden board and beating them until Toki crumpled to the ground.

Toki had been fending off Skwisgaar since the weather got lower. It wasn't that hard, really, if he focused all of the pleasure on Skwisgaar as opposed to himself, indulging him and allowing him to forget that Toki really didn't want to unclothe as he came in Toki's hands. Toki suspected he was beginning to grow suspicious, though, Skwisgaar's fingers prone to playing with the hems of Toki's clothes even in casual conversation, and he was going to have to talk to him about it soon. He was embarrassed, mostly, convinced that Skwisgaar would break it off the second he saw the crisscrossing scars and bruises. There were many reasons Toki felt shame at the state of his skin, but he focused on a few major ones: he was sixteen years old and susceptible to the hand of his frail, older parents; the scars were ugly, marring what could've been an attractive body; they carried baggage, baggage that any sane person wouldn't want to deal with in a relationship. He'd have the talk eventually. Just not yet.

That's what he was thinking about as he rubbed his arms up and down the sleeves of his hoodie, pressing his thumb into a bruise from his father's own thumb around his forearm, feeling connected in a way that made sickness drop to his stomach like a stone in water. He was with his friends, waiting in the hallway outside of Dick's apartment for Dick to appear after knocking on his door a few minutes ago. It was around sixty-two degrees outside but seemed like it was half of that in Dick's apartment building and Toki was pretty sure the air conditioning system was malfunctioning, chilling the place instead of heating it. That was a common occurrence in the winter; Dick's apartment was in an unfavorable part of the town, the slums of the slums, and Toki felt exposed standing in the hallway with its peeling, yellowed wallpaper and carpet that looked as if it had never been cleaned. Pickles seemed at home, leaning against the wall and lighting a cigarette, but Nathan hovered on the fringes of the group, protective. Murderface was on edge though he had probably visited Dick's place more than any of them combined. Except for Pickles, who brushed dreadlocks back from his face and held the cigarette out from his mouth between two fingers openly, they are all shivering from a combination of unease and the cold.

"Goddammit, Dick," Murderface said, and he knocked on the door again. "I know you're in there." He increased his knocking, pounding on the door with the heels of both his fists, eventually leaning his forehead against it and letting his hands slide down when that proved to be futile.

"Maybe he's getting laid," Pickles said, taking a drag from his cigarette. He was holding his elbow with his other hand.

Murderface turned his forehead from the door to gape at Pickles and offered no response to him. Nathan chuckled in a mean way that Pickles joined in on, both laughing at the idea that Dick could get laid. Murderface growled and turned his head back against the door, which finally opened. Dick stepped aside as Murderface fell through the doorway, landing face down on the tile in the entranceway to Dick's apartment.

"Come in," Dick said, bowing and extending his arm like he was welcoming them into a mansion and not a shithole apartment. The guys stepped over Murderface, who stayed on the ground moaning about how much he hated his life for a few minutes, and into Dick's apartment. Toki had been here a few times before, but not often, and the only discernable change he saw was that Dick had gotten a new, somehow uglier couch, a huge, overstuffed floral monstrosity with a rip in the upholster that bled stuffing. Toki stayed near the door; Pickles went to the kitchen to rifle through the cabinets for no discernable reason and Nathan followed him. When Murderface picked himself from the ground he and Dick went into the kitchen area and sat at the two barstools Dick had behind the counters outlining the perimeter to the kitchen in lieu of an actual dining table, watching Pickles rearrange the refrigerator without much interest.

It was warmer inside of Dick's apartment. There was an independent heater on one side of the door that seemed to be the source of the heat. Toki stopped rubbing at his arms and moved a little bit closer to the kitchen, still keeping a safe distance. He couldn't imagine Dick actually preparing and eating a meal here, though there was foodstuff in the refrigerator and drawers, a bag that contained a half-fallen loaf of bread lounging on the counter. Pickles seemed satisfied with whatever it was he was doing and turned around, hopping up to sit on a counter in the kitchen and facing Dick.

"So, what is it for you today, boys?" Dick asked, but he was looking Pickles straight in the eye. Dick wore his sunglasses inside his apartment which made him seem like, well, a dick.

"Pills and coke," Pickles responded at once, voice tight.

"No marijuana?" Toki flinched at the way Dick pronounced it.

"We're going to my brother's after this," Pickles said. He didn't break eye contact with Dick, nor did he blink, and he took a puff from the cigarette in his hands to prove a point. "Best quality in the city."

"Highest prices," Dick pointed out. "You know I have a better deal."

"Your quality is shit," Pickles said, unabashed. He took another hit off the cigarette, holding his elbow with his arm again. His brows were furrowed, eyebrow rings glittering in the cheap fluorescent light of the apartment. He didn't elaborate on his point.

"I'll be right back, then," Dick said, removing himself from the barstool. Murderface went to follow him to the second bedroom in the apartment, where Dick kept his fairly extensive supply of drugs behind the walls and in plain boxes in his closet. Dick stopped Murderface with a hand up. "Stay here, William," he said.

Toki always thought that buying from Dick was too melodramatic of an affair, as they were friends outside of drug deals and all, but Pickles was serious about his substances. Dick's weed was the cheapest and the shittiest in the area that they were willing to drive for good drugs but he was seemingly pretty solid on the other stuff; Toki didn't really know, he didn't do coke or anything like that, only weed and pills. Besides, prescription medicine was hard to fuck up. Pickles sat on the counter and waited with Nathan close at his side, behaving like his personal bodyguard, Murderface's line of sight directed to the hallway that Dick had disappeared into. Toki hung in the negative space of the apartment, close to where a dining table should be but instead were two mismatched chairs with an expensive stereo between them, stacks of CDs resting both under and on top of an overturned milk crate. The walls of Dick's apartment, besides in the bedroom, were made of ugly brick that clashed with both the tile of the kitchen and entrance and the carpet everywhere else, but the brick was mostly obscured by posters, newspapers, pictures-anything that was flat enough to be pinned against a wall. Toki hated Dick's apartment, thought that Dick was obviously trying too hard in passing in his decorating style off as not trying at all, a judgment that Pickles hade made the first time they ever graced the place.

Dick returned with two plastic sandwich bags, one with a rainbow of pills and the other with a scant amount of coke. They were friendly enough with their drug dealer that he knew their regular order but they still had to go through this annoying, tense ritual. Pickles dropped his cigarette to the floor and eased himself off the counter, right foot landing on the cigarette butt and rubbing it into the tile. Toki thought he saw Dick roll his eyes but the sunglasses were too dark to properly tell. Pickles came forward and took the bags from Dick's hands, stuffing them down the pockets of his cargo shorts.

"Thanks," Pickles said, and he turned to leave. Toki turned his back to Dick as well, glad to get this shit over with. The group convened and began their joint exit.

"Hey," Dick called as them as they were almost out the door, "I'm having a Christmas party on the twenty-first. You guys should come."

"We'll be there," Murderface said. He was the last one to leave.

Pickles muttered about the "unpleasantries" of dealing with Dick the entire way down to Nathan's truck, which was a long trek down five flights of stairs as the elevator in Dick's building had been broken for as long as Toki had known the guy, that left Murderface wheezing and out of breath (as well as Pickles, to a lighter extent). Nathan and Toki took the stairs with ease, both of them in good shape. They passed some of the other residents of the building on the way down: a scary looking man holding handfuls of grocery bags and getting off on the third floor, a portly and elderly woman with three kids running between her legs in the lobby, a teenager with tattoos of flames running up her neck and licking her jawline on the way in while they exited. Toki was almost relieved to see that Nathan's truck was undisturbed in the parking lot adjacent to the building; they'd once come out to see somebody looking through the driver's side window.

They got into Nathan's truck and Nathan took off in the direction of Pickles's brother's neighborhood, which wasn't too far from there but a hell of a lot nicer, in the trendier, gentrified part of downtown. Pickles took the baggies of drugs from his pocket and stuffed them inside the glove box amongst empty cigarette cartons and soda cans. He relaxed in his seat and lit another cigarette, rolling the window down and letting his arm out. He was quiet in an eerie way that made the rest of the car quiet. The drive wasn't that long at all, just over a handful of minutes, but Toki hated drug runs and he hated being dragged on them, making the few minutes seem more like a few hours. He strummed his fingers against the door of the truck and looked out at the window.

Nathan parked in front of the curb a block down from Seth's place and fed the parking meter a single quarter, scowling. Nobody spoke as they walked down the block, into the building, and took the elevator to the seventh floor, where Seth, Pickles's brother, lived with his girlfriend Amber, who was five months along in her pregnancy. Seth's building was not a host to dubious denizens and Toki felt safer amongst the modern decoration and upper-class residents, but the stress exuding from Pickles kept the mood heavy. At least this building was heated. Freed from shivering, Toki walked with his hands in his pockets and head down. He watched his feet move across the floor, thought about how weird walking was in an abstract sort of way.

Pickles didn't bother knocking on Seth's door, only dug deep into his pocket for the key to it that he possessed. He pressed his ear flat against the door to listen for movement and, judging it safe, stuck the key in the lock and turned it slowly, cautious, quiet. He opened the door in the same manner and peered inside; from what Toki could see it was empty, shoes missing from the shoe rack beside the door. Pickles motioned for them to follow him and they did, infiltrating his brother's apartment. Nathan followed Pickles down a hallway and into a door while Murderface and Toki stayed near the entrance, on watch in case Seth returned. He did not, and Toki spent the ten minutes of waiting for Nathan and Pickles to return examining his nails, which were lined with dirt underneath from recent yard work and needed to be cleaned and cut, while Murderface carried on a conversation with somebody (Toki suspected Dick) on his phone. Nathan and Pickles returned in a flash of black and red as they ran past Toki and Murderface and out the door; Murderface and Toki scrambled to get out the apartment before Pickles closed the door and locked it. They left the building walking as quickly as they could do so without raising suspicion and once back at the truck Pickles stopped to wheeze, his hands on his knees.

When he had collected himself Pickles pulled the tip of another plastic baggie from his shorts, crumbles of weed evident inside. Through his wheezing he smiled, though it did not reach his eyes, and said, "Got my holiday shopping done." He stuffed the baggie farther down his shorts and stood up, stretching, before retrieving an inhaler from yet another pocket and taking a few puffs to ease his breathing. "Fuck, I hate this." Nathan rubbed Pickles's back in an appropriate and masculine gesture of sympathy and friendship.

They went back to Nathan's house after that as it was a Saturday and none of them had anywhere else to be. Pickles popped a few pills and collapsed on Nathan's bed, stating his intention to not move for a hundred years, laying facedown on the mattress. Nathan shrugged at Murderface and Toki and the three of them left Pickles alone, heading down to the basement. They stopped in the kitchen on the way there, grabbing a few bottles of soda and bags of chips, Nathan ordering a pizza and wings on his family's home phone. In the basement Murderface stretched out the floor, laying on his side, while Nathan and Toki took the couch, to play video games. Toki was always the best, racking up the most kill counts and screaming with victory as he won game after game. Murderface was a close second, Nathan a competent third.

"Goddammit," Murderface grunted. "Fuckin' schombies." On screen, he shot one through the head at close range, blood splattering his third of the television screen for a few seconds. Toki preferred to use the melee weapons and was working his way through a herd, relishing in the satisfying sounds of a baseball bat hitting a zombie's skull.

Nathan made some sort of affirmative noise to Murderface that turned into a growl as half of the herd that Toki had been working on turned towards him. Toki rolled his eyes; they were zombies, and zombies were fucking slow. His baseball bat slung through a row of zombie midsections, carving them in half, and he ran towards Nathan to help. Nathan used the heaviest gun in the game, also the noisiest, attracting what felt like every zombie on the map. Murderface had to join in eventually and, when the round ended, was a single kill behind Toki.

"Why the fuck are you so good at this?" Murderface yelled, throwing his controller at the floor (which wasn't that impactful, as he was on the floor himself) and rolling onto his back in defeat. "I'm done. I'm dead. I can't win."

"It's not about winning," Nathan said. He set his controller down and rifled through a bag of chips. "It's about killing zombies."

"Yeah," Toki he said, bouncing in his seat. He felt charged with energy from all of that killing. "Let's play again."

"Nah," Nathan said. As punctuation, his doorbell rang. "I think the pizza's here. We should get Pickles and eat." From the floor, Murderface nodded in agreement, and Toki was outvoted. He shrugged and tossed his controller into the couch behind him.

They got their pizza (Nathan paying for it and leaving a generous tip) and roused Pickles from the slumber he had fallen into, eating on the floor in Nathan's room. Pickles's eyes were glazed from his nap and the pills and he was out of it, smearing grease and sauce on his face as he ate, making Toki uncomfortable to look at him. He engaged Nathan and Murderface in conversation instead, huddled around the box of pizza while Pickles lolled about off to the side.

"Am-are we really going to Dick's party?" Toki asked, looking over the slice of pizza he held to his mouth at the other boys. Upon completing the sentence, he took a bite. He'd been struggling with his English the more time he spent talking to Skwisgaar, which had taken a dramatic increase since he received his cell phone. Thinking about it made him conscious of the extra weight in his pocket.

"We better," Murderface said, whipping his head back and forth to glare at Toki and Nathan. "I am, at leascht, and you guysch schould come too. I don't know why you all hate Dick-" Nathan and Toki laughed at this, of course, and Murderface rolled his eyes-"What'sch scho funny? He'sch not a bad guy."

"He's a little..." Nathan said, and he looked at Pickles like he was expecting Pickles to finish his sentence for him, but Pickles had his head against the wall and eyes closed, tongue rolled out of his mouth. "Ridiculous. Yeah, he's a little ridiculous," Nathan finished, without the aid of his friend.

"Whatever," Murderface said, and he shifted his weight forward as to grab another slice of pizza. "Scho is Schkwischgaar, and you like him."

Nathan shrugged, unable to come up with anything to refute that, and folded his arms over his knees. He was sitting Indian-style and it was amusing Toki in an offhanded way, though he didn't know if the origin of the phrase was American-Indian or India-Indian. Both seemed likely; maybe it was both. Maybe the phrase was offensive. He turned towards Pickles to ask him before realizing that Pickles was totally out of it.

"But yeah, we'll probably go," Nathan said, revitalizing the conversation.

After the pizza was gone Nathan drove Toki home. It was later in the afternoon, edging towards evening, and temperatures were dropping. Toki took to rubbing his arms again, pressing his fingertips deep into his bruises and feeling the pain crawl through his spine. He wanted to sigh and relax so deep he would meld with the passenger seat; the only one in the car beside the driver, Pickles still in catatonia and Murderface having left to hang out with Dick, he got the privilege of riding shotgun. He let Nathan ramble on about the death metal band whose CD he was playing in Toki's direction. Nathan's truck had heating but it was busted; Nathan was hoping his parents would give him the money to repair it over Christmas, which was twenty days away.

Toki smiled and nodded at Nathan before he shut the door to Nathan's truck, his hands holding his arms like he was freezing even though he was neutral in temperature. Nathan had an expression on his face akin to concern but he put the truck in gear and drove off without saying anything. Toki watched Nathan's truck disappear as he always did before walking up the steps to his house. His teeth were chattering and his skin crawling, not with the cold but with anticipation.

Something inside of his chest fell and floated to his stomach when he opened the door to see his father, standing tall and mouth set in a hard line, his hands holding a fireplace poker. He had been waiting for Toki and Toki knew this as soon as he saw him. Toki was within the boundaries of his allotted time out, had done nothing wrong, but his father swung the poker into Toki's side. Toki fell against the piles of shoes by the front door, one of his sneakers jamming into his side, and switched himself into a sort of comatose state, waiting for further punishment. His father dropped the poker, the metal making a loud sound against the hardwood floor, and stood, looking at Toki. Toki felt so small, like he was back in an eight year old's body in the Norwegian snow, waiting to be thrown into his punishment hole though there was nothing to be punished for. He didn't shut his eyes, only stared at the floor, waiting, waiting for something that didn't come. His father walked away after a few minutes. Toki sighed and closed his eyes.

He listened to his father's footsteps carry him to his study and it wasn't until the sound of a door being shut and locked did Toki pick himself up, putting a hand against the wall to balance himself. He went to his room, using either the wall or furniture to steady himself as he went, then collapsed on his bed. He rolled over on the side that didn't hurt and lifted his hoodie up to inspect the damage. His father had hit him with the long part of the poker, catching him between two ribs, and there was a narrow red strip that throbbed with pain. It would leave an ugly bruise, the red already blurring into a purplish tone. He covered it up and rolled onto his back, eyes fluttering shut. He covered his side with one hand and used the other to snake behind into his pocket, his fingers wrapping around his cell phone.

He had Skwisgaar saved as a contact but he also knew his number by heart. The mindless process of dialing it gave him comfort. He held the phone to his ear and willed Skwisgaar not to be busy, not to be practicing or at a gig or doing whatever it was he did when he's not with Toki. He made a noise of relief when the phone clicked and Skwisgaar's voice filtered through, a distorted Ja?

"Skwisgaar," Toki breathed, and he bit his tongue to keep from repeating it. Skwisgaar, Skwisgaar, Skwisgaar, I have so much to tell you, Skwisgaar, but now is not the time.

"Ams yous okay?" Skwisgaar spoke lower; Toki imagined him covering his mouth and the phone with a hand and sneaking off from whoever he was with, not willing to let them overhear concern over another human being. Toki's lips curled into a smile at the thought.

"Yeah," Toki said. He realized he was taking shallow breaths and remedied that. He retracted his hand to touch the pads of his fingers to the material of his hoodie over where his new wound lay underneath, then returned it, his palm pressing into the pain.

"Yous doesnt sound okay," Skwisgaar said. "Does you wants me to come over?"

"No!" Toki flushed with heat when he realized how quickly he had uttered that. If his side didn't hurt so much, he would've taken that hand to his mouth in horror at himself. "I mean, yes, but you can't. My parents."

"Yous parents," Skwisgaar repeated. Toki couldn't pick up any particular tone to his voice. There was a pause, and then Skwisgaar spoke again. "Well, ams you wantingks to talk? I's in a practice, Mark ams lookingks at me weird-"

"It's okay," Toki said. "Go back to yous practice. I just wanted to hear yous voice, is all." Toki smiled with a bit of malicious intent; he knew Skwisgaar would hate that, or at least pretend to hate it.

"Don't get sappies on me," Skwisgaar said, and maybe Toki was imagining it, but there was a hint of a smile in his voice. Skwisgaar tended to express his emotions better when it didn't involve eye contact. "Goodbyes, little Tokis," Skwisgaar said while Toki stewed in victory and fondness.

"Bye," Toki said. He hung up-he hated it when Skwisgaar did that first-and put the phone beneath his pillow. He kept it there when he was home.

He wanted to sleep until dinnertime but there were chores to be done. He forced his body to move and get dressed for his Saturday chores then went into the kitchen. Looking around to make sure his father wasn't anywhere near, he reached on top of the refrigerator and grabbed the bottle of painkillers his parents thought were hidden in a basket containing batteries and other various household necessities. He dug two out and swallowed them dry, not willing to sacrifice the time to get a drink of water, then put the bottle back. His parents didn't count the pills but Toki tried to take them solely under the circumstance of extreme pain. He pulled on the pair of sneakers that he had hit when falling to the floor, straightened the pile up by the door, and set out to do his regular chores as the sun began to set and the temperatures took the final plunge of the night.

He went to church the next day and his father preached, staring Toki straight in the eye when he began to talk of obedience and respect of authority. Toki didn't flinch or wiggle in his seat, only kept his hand clasped in his lap and envisioned the symmetry of his body, feeling his straight posture and the braid of hair trailing down his back, the line that separated his eyes and flared into the bridge of his nose. The church was growing fervent with holiday preparations, the countdown having begun, everybody itchy in anticipation for Christmas, including Toki's parents. Toki loved Christmas but saw it as something the church and his parents should not be allowed to touch. To Toki, Christmas was a selfless holiday of gift-giving and appreciation. He did not believe it to be possible of his parents to understand the cultural implications beyond the religious overtones. They talked of Jesus, his deeds and his death, but they didn't seem to learn anything from his humble teachings of love and peace. No, Toki did not flinch or wiggle when his father met his gaze, but simmered with anger, flames dancing around inside of his ribcage.

After church he met up with Skwisgaar, as were his plans for the day. Toki unbraided his hair on the city bus ride, untucked his shirt and unbuttoned it to reveal a t-shirt beneath it, arranging himself as she should be. They hung out downtown, sitting on the seawall and sharing a blunt, facing away from the water and towards the jogging path. The day was crisp, the air light and relatively free of humidity, the slightest of chills to nip at their noses. They laughed at the people jogging and at one point Toki inhaled far too sharply and started coughing, almost falling backwards, until Skwisgaar managed to compose himself enough to grab Toki around the waist with both arms and support him, both of their chests shaking, Toki's with coughing and Skwisgaar's with laughter. They made out in the most offensive way they could, leaning into each other, flipping off anybody that dared to make a comment or give them a dirty look. Toki was giddy by the time he got home, having taken a city bus after Mark collected Skwisgaar for practice and something called "band bonding time," and he glided through his Sunday chores, his thoughts elsewhere. On the way home from the date, an idea of what to get-or rather, make-Skwisgaar for Christmas occurred to him, his forehead against the grimy glass of the bus's window and eyes watching, but not taking in, the cityscape. He would have to implement Pickles's help.

He asked Pickles about it during lunch at school the next day. Pickles was back to his usual self after his near overdose during the weekend, stealing fries from Nathan's plate to eat and arguing with Murderface about the best era in modern musical history for drumming. Toki waited until the argument lapsed, Murderface rolling his eyes at something Pickles said and Pickles relaxing, crossing his arms in triumph, to address Pickles.

"Pickle," Toki began. "I need your help with something."

"Yeah?" Pickles turned towards Toki and raised an eyebrow. He wore a victorious smirk, leftover from his argument with Murderface. "What is it?"

"A Christmas gift for Skwisgaar," Toki said. He was met with a chorus of groans from the table, including Pickles. Nathan and Murderface both said, "Gay," Nathan with indifference, Murderface with disgust.

"Okay," Pickles said. He smiled through his groan and continued to smile, though the victory was gone from his eyes, replaced with interest. "What exactly are you plannin' on gettin' him?"

"A mixtape," Toki said. The collective table had no specific response to this.

"That works," Pickles said. He slammed his hands down on the table. Toki found Pickles's eye contact to be needlessly intense. "I can help you with that. Easy. Sure, Toki."

"Cool!" Toki chirped, jumping in his seat and beaming at Pickles. He had been wondering about what to get Skwisgaar, having figured out his gifts for the other guys months ago, and was happy to have it resolved. Something else popped into his head, another problem, dampening his joy. "One more thing," he said, addressing this to Nathan.

"Hmm?" Nathan had been preoccupied with a bag of chips, but lifted his head up when he realized Toki was speaking to him. He stuffed another handful of chips in his mouth as Toki continued to talk.

"Can Skwisgaar come with us to the Christmas party?" Toki asked. Under the table he crossed his fingers and his toes.

Nathan didn't say anything. He put down his bag of chips and rotated his head towards Pickles. They shared a look, their expressions changing in the subtlest of ways as if their faces were carrying on a conversation for them, and then Nathan turned back to Toki and picked his chips up again. "Yeah, sure, whatever," Nathan said. He stuck his fingers inside the bag and wiggled them around, searching for any remaining crumbs. "Tell him to get his own ride, though. I don't even know where he lives."

"I can tell you," Toki said. He felt like he might be pushing his luck, but it was worth it. "It's not too far from Dick's." Toki hadn't been to Skwisgaar's apartment yet, since he shared it with the rest of Fuckface Academy and slept on the couch (it was a two-bedroom apartment for a band with four members; Mark had one bedroom, Ritchie the drummer the other, and George, the rhythm, slept in the bathtub), but he knew the address. He had it written down in one of his school notebooks in case he needed it, scrawled in the corner of notes he was pretending to take and framed by his doodles.

"Whatever," Nathan said again, using his wrist to fix a stray strand of hair. Toki's smile somehow grew larger. He had won.

"Waschn't anybody going to aschk me?" Murderface asked. He slammed his hands on the table like Pickles had done earlier, drawing all attention to him.

"You don't have seniority," Pickles said, shrugging. He took another fry from Nathan's tray and ate it. He had his own fries on his tray, untouched, but seemed to prefer stealing Nathan's, draping his body across the table in every direction as he stood up at various points in the conversation.

"Bullschit! Toki'sch the one without any authority! I wasch friendsch with you guysch before him." Murderface was sputtering, his lisp sending spit everywhere, flying in the direction of Pickles's tray.

"Yeah, but Pickles and me were friends before you," Nathan said.

"It was friendship at first sight," Pickles said. He looked at Nathan and fluttered his eyelashes in this mocking moon-eyed way. Toki laughed. He would've felt some sort of secret envy bubble inside of him before Skwisgaar, but after Skwisgaar, he appreciated Nathan and Pickles's friendship for what it was worth. He only wished that his friends would appreciate Skwisgaar as well, but he knew he had to give some things time.

The entire school was alert with anticipation for the upcoming two-week break from school. The teachers had a hard time wrangling in their students and the students had a hard time caring about school in general. Toki daydreamed or dozed off in his classes, kept pulling the same average grades he always did, hung out with the guys before, after, and during school. One week turned into the next and then it was the last week before break, Christmas coming the next Friday, the Christmas party that Monday, and Toki was going to shopping with Skwisgaar that Saturday. Toki arrived to school the Friday before break feeling splendid, even with the upcoming break from school and whatever that might mean in regards to his parents, in his backpack a gift for Rockzo, whom he hoped would show up. Rockzo was flaky at best with his attendance without an approaching holiday.

Adding to Toki's increasing luck, Rockzo was indeed in Chemistry that day. They weren't doing anything in any of Toki's classes as far as he knew, both teacher and student having given up on the curriculum, his school transformed into an elaborate babysitting set-up. Pickles was lying across the lab table he shared with Nathan, his legs bent at the knees and calves hanging off the edge, while Nathan had his chair angled out at the corner. Pickles was high, his eyes rimmed red and staring at the ceiling, talking about how he hoped there were aliens and that the aliens were happy. Toki had been pretty involved in the conversation, discussing battle plans for intergalactic warfare with Nathan while Pickles warned them that they really shouldn't fight the poor extraterrestrials, they came in peace, dood, haven't you ever even fuckin' seen E.T., when Rockzo burst into the classroom, fifteen minutes late.

Toki doubled over in laughter and pointed at Rockzo as soon as he saw him. Rockzo had dyed his hair white and was wearing a cheap strap-on beard with a red jumpsuit underneath a pair of athletic shorts and black knee-high boots, some bastardization of Santa Claus. Pickles shot up and screamed at the sight, cowering in terror. The rest of the class sat in stunned silence until they joined Toki in laughter. Mr. Marshall looked up, eyes half-lidded in exasperation, sighed, and returned to whatever it was that teachers did on their computers while not instructing a class.

"Classic!" Toki said, wiping tears away from his eyes as Rockzo deposited himself in the seat beside Toki. Rockzo grinned at him through his fake beard. "I got you a present," Toki continued, his arms shaking as he suppressed his laughter long enough to reach into his backpack and give Rockzo the gift he had made for him in art class over the last week. It had been wrapped in newspaper; Toki hadn't had access to any proper wrapping paper. He would get some at the mall with Skwisgaar the next day, appropriate for the season and the level of friendship he felt for Nathan, Pickles and Murderface but not Rockzo, not really.

"K-k-thanks!" Rockzo screeched. He tore at the newspaper, unearthing a miniature sculpture of a miniature Rockzo posing on top of a comparably large pile of cocaine. He picked it up and turned it all around, examining it from every angle, even looking at the underside of the cocaine pile where Toki had signed his name and the date. "Dr. Rockzo k-k-loves it!" He said, and he pulled Toki towards him in a crushing hug. Rockzo was sniffling; Toki assumed that that was probably more from the cocaine and less from an emotional response to his gift.

"You're welcome, Rockzo," Toki said, returning the hug. After they broke their embrace and exchanged a grin, Rockzo flitted over to his group of friends, showing the sculpture off. Toki watched them fawn over it, feeling proud of himself, then returned his interest to Nathan and Pickles. Pickles continued to hug his knees to his chest and rock back and forth on the tabletop, wide-eyed gaze fixated on Rockzo, murmuring about demon Santa Claus.

"I think he took some shrooms," Nathan said to Toki as he tried to comfort Pickles and failed, chuckling every time Pickles mentioned what he was calling the Claus Conspiracy.

The rest of the school day occurred like molasses dripping out of its container, slowly and painfully, even if there was the pre-break excitement buzzing in the air. Toki dreaded breaks but the buzz was infectious, finding a home in him even if he didn't want it there, and by the time the last bell of the day rang, he was ready to sprint away from the school. He met up with Nathan, Murderface and Pickles out in the student parking lot. Pickles had mostly recovered from the shrooms and was grinning, something mischievous in his eyes.

"C'mon, Toki," Pickles said as Toki came into earshot. "Don't got all day. Gotta meet up with Sammy and them guys for the annual Christmas coke binge later tonight."

Toki fought the urge to roll his eyes until Pickles locked himself into Nathan's truck and busied himself with his phone. The rest of the guys followed Pickles's lead, buckling seatbelts and adjusting themselves, and then they were off, their break officially started. Nathan filled his truck with some of the better music—the music they unanimously liked, that infected their bodies with excitement—and sped away from the school. Toki craned his neck to watch the building, leaking students and teachers alike from every orifice, until Nathan turned right on the street towards his house and Toki could see the school no longer. His emotions were mixed and hard to decipher over the clamor of the music so he didn't bother, just turned around in his seat, and joined the car in growling along to the music and pantomiming the instruments.

The seconds of silence between the ending of that song and the start of the next allowed thoughts to creep into Toki's head. Specifically: the way he was beginning the break, the Christmas break, the most holy of times, in this unchristian manor. Satanic music, satanic friends, satanic sensations bubbling inside of him. Metal music sometimes led him back to sex, and given his newfound sex life, it had taken him there immediately: from an innocent brush of lips against skin to the feeling of a hard dick in his hand, he had memories to drawn upon to match the melody, to make his mouth wet with anticipation of things to come. His parents would be appalled, would beat him to within a quarter-inch of his life if they knew, and the realization hit him in the stomach hard as his father's foot kicking him while he was down. He knew the exhilaration that other kids felt at going behind their parents backs—Pickles and Murderface seemed constructed from the feeling—but in him there was only shame and trepidation, as if there was an apocalypse of his own doing approaching. He didn't fret on this for too long, however, as the music started up again, and all negativity dissipated.

Nathan parked in his driveway and they poured out of the vehicle. A brief stop in the kitchen as was their ritual, filling their arms with food, and then to the basement. Toki and Murderface sat on the floor while Pickles stretched over two couch cushions, his legs hanging off an arm, Nathan depositing his bulk in the free space. They bullshitted around for a few hours, alternating between television and video games, snacking, a typical Friday afternoon. Around four o'clock Toki looked at Pickles and Pickles looked back. They exchanged a glance and a nod and Pickles lifted himself from the couch.

"Gotta get some shit done with Toki," he announced to nobody in particular, walking from the basement and gesturing for Toki to follow. Toki did so, running a hand through his hair and fixing his shirt as he went. Behind them Nathan and Murderface switched from a movie they had been making fun of to that zombie video game they were fond of, making half-threats to each other and promising to kick some serious zombie ass.

In Nathan's room Pickles sat in Nathan's computer chair while Toki sat on the desk, body angled towards Pickles. Pickles slid a blank CD into Nathan's computer—Toki made a note to decorate it and the case he would be putting it in later—and rubbed his hands together, eyebrow rings catching the sunlight from Nathan's open window. Outside, a frat boy type went behind the house, a garden gnome in hand.

"Do you have any ideas about how you want this? What type of music and shit? Any songs?" Pickles asked, addressing Toki and taking his attention away from the frat boy and his gnome.

Toki shrugged. "Some songs," he said. He picked up an open notebook that Nathan had on his desk. In his neat cursive—the quality of the penmanship always threw Toki off—Nathan had written several half-songs over the page. Most of the lyrics were nonsense about murder, death, war, and blood in the abstract, though there was a curious nautical theme running through the words.

"It would help if you said which ones," Pickles said. Toki looked up from the notebook and closed it, putting it back on the table. Pickles relaxed in his chair. "Don't got all day."

"Well," Toki said. He bit his lip in thought. "I have more of an idea of the genres. Um. Norwegian black metal. Grunge. Death metal. Electronica." He smiled and sucked on his cheek, literally tonguing it. "Norwegian love songs."

"That," Pickles said, looking at Toki with his mouth agape and eyes wide, "is…well, Toki, I don't have words for it. It's you. I'll see what I can do." He shook his head and rearranged his face before turning his attention on the computer monitor. Toki shrugged and picked the notebook up again, going through the pages, while Pickles's fingers ran across the keyboard.

Every so often Pickles would pause and get Toki's attention to play a song for him, asking Toki's opinion. Toki went through Nathan's room and messed around with his shit, reading the dates on the tour posters or the summaries of the collection of books he kept (on subjects from fishing in Florida to medieval witchery) and gave Pickles his opinion when needed. It took them a few hours to collect seventeen songs (Pickles asked if the number seventeen meant anything and Toki said no, just that it felt like enough) and then a handful of minutes to burn and eject the CD. Toki held it in his hands, warm from the mechanical processes of the computer, and lifted his head to look at Pickles. Pickles had exasperation in every line of his face and stood still, knowing what was about to come as Toki put the CD down on Nathan's desk and took Pickles into his arms, crushing him in a hug. Toki had grown used to being taller than Pickles, he realized, as he expressed his gratitude into Pickles's dreadlocks.

"Yeah, yeah, you're welcome," Pickles grunted, extracting himself from Toki's grip. He adjusted his hair and his shirt then pulled his phone from his pocket to check the time. "Well, I gotta go to the annual Christmas coke binge," he said. He patted Toki on the forearm before leaving Nathan's room.

Toki was all smiles as he slid Skwisgaar's mixtape into a clear CD cover and then the CD cover into the pocket of his jeans. He stretched, raising his arms high above his head and basked in the reliable Florida sunshine. He looked out the window, taking in Nathan's street, the frat boys carrying several cases of beer from their car to their house, an overweight middle-aged woman mowing the lawn, her sweatshirt stained down the front. Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt, Toki thought, and he was pretty sure that was a quote from a book or something. He would've asked Pickles had Pickles still been in the room, which he wasn't, and Toki had no reason to be there, either, so he left, returning to the basement.

"I gotta go, guys," Toki said, frowning. "My parents want me home," he tacked on for needless emphasis. Nathan shrugged and got up from the couch. If couches had emotion, that particular couch would've been relieved, as it slowly took its original shape from the hole that Nathan's bulk had left imprinted in the cushions.

Murderface threw his controller towards the basket that held Nathan's miscellaneous video game memorabilia (it missed and hit the wall instead) and stood up from the floor. He twisted around, his back making loud and unpleasant popping sounds, then cracked his fingers. "I better get going too," he said through a yawn.

"Well," Nathan said. He began to ascend the stairs. "Let's go, come on."

At home, Toki ate dinner with his parents, went through his Friday chore routine and avoided punishment, somehow. He never questioned the what, when, why, whereor how of his punishments, only noticed when they didn't happen. It didn't make him happy, or feel anything at all, except for a numb nervousness, maybe. He really tried not to think about it beyond the facts. Sometimes his parents struck him, sometimes with their hands or sometimes with foreign objects, sometimes they cut him, sometimes they beat him, it hurt and it sucked, he had scars mental and physical. Speculation would drive him insane, he had come to realize, and so he did not speculate.

When he had finished his chores he retired to his room. He closed the door behind him and dressed down to just his jeans then wriggled underneath his bed to receive the small amount of arts supplies he was able to hide from his parents. He kept a tiny selection of paints, markers and crayons, a single coloring book and a half-filled sketchpad in an old shoebox, inconspicuous as such a thing could be. He carried it under one arm to his desk while he fished out the CD from his pocket. He set the box down and sat at his desk.

He thought for a few minutes of how to decorate it—he wanted it perfect—and sketched out a few ideas in the next blank page of his sketchpad, past the picture of himself as a knight he had been working on for the last few weeks. When he felt satisfied with that he took the markers from the shoebox and got to work on the CD. Using the only sharpie he had he wrote MERRY CHRISTMAS 2012 SKWISGAAR FROM TOKI in block letters on the actual CD itself, using a dictionary to get his spelling right, underlining the words with cheery depictions of mistletoe. On the back of the cover he listed the songs, using a different colored marker for each title, and drew an elaborate frame constructed of what he considered an amalgam of their interests: bunnies frolicking alongside flowers across a sketch of sheet music, cigarettes and guitars running perpendicular across the lines and between the bunnies. Once satisfied with that he wrote A MIXTAPE FOR YOU on the front side of the cover and splashed a variety of doodles: hearts, stars, suns, flowers, knives, hammers, corpses bleeding from stab wounds, distended eyeballs, the usual. He signed his name in the corner and wrote PLAY ME along the bottom in a stylized thorny script. He felt satisfied with it by the time he was finished, certain that Skwisgaar would love (or at least tolerate in an appreciative manner) it. He put the CD cover in the pocket of the pants he was planning to wear to the party, hung those back in his closet, then went to bed. He slept with his phone under the pillow in case Skwisgaar (or his friends, he guessed, but mostly Skwisgaar) decided to call. Tonight, he did not.

Toki woke up and did his Saturday chores first thing in the morning. His father was out, but that didn't stop his mother from taking the scalding spoon she had been stirring into a soup and dribbling its contents down the back of Toki's shirt when he came in from outside to get a drink. Pinpricks of pain crawled the length of Toki's spine, droplets of soup leaving little burns. He didn't flinch or comment. He stood at the closed refrigerator, one hand still on the handle and the other holding an unopened bottle of water, and let it happen, felt the pain. His mother watched in silence for eighty-seven seconds—Toki counted them—before returning to the soup, getting a new spoon. Toki left the kitchen and went to his bedroom, pressing the heels of his hands into the palm of his eyes to prevent himself from crying. Burns fucking hurt.

He waited half an hour before he went to take a shower. He filled the time by laying on the floor, on his stomach, and attempting to make the next page of his sketchpad entirely black. He gave up in frustration at the white specks that refused to darken, having used half of his black marker, grabbed his clothes for the day, and went to the bathroom.

He wished the bathroom door had a lock, but like every room in the house that didn't belong exclusively to his parents, it did not. He perked his ears as he peeled his shirt off and looked in the mirror at his back. As he expected, hanging down his back and mingling with the existing scars was a trail of small red circles, the skin a little wrinkled, that hurt to the touch. He ran the shower cold at first, let the water hammer the pain out of his back, then hot, properly washing himself. It was nearing lunchtime and thus edging closer to his Christmas shopping with Skwisgaar, keeping him excited as opposed to depressed or pissed about the soup incident. He avoided looking at his back as he toweled off and dressed in the bathroom.

His mother served him the soup for lunch. It was good—beyond good, it was delicious—which made the entire situation worse, almost breaking Toki, but he finished his bowl. His mother didn't eat lunch with him, disappearing upstairs, and Toki was grateful for that. Something inside of him was getting close to spilling. He didn't know what or when, why or how, and like his punishment he chose not to think of it, only to force it down and try to forget. He washed his bowl and spoon and put them away before exiting the house and sitting on the steps, awaiting Nathan, who was serving as his ride to the mall where he would be meeting and subsequently shopping with Skwisgaar.

Nathan arrived a short time later, Pickles in the passenger seat. Toki climbed in the truck and looked out the window, not in the mood for conversation. He listened to Nathan and Pickles talk reminisce about previous Christmas break beginnings—"Hey, remember that time we stole some lawyer's car and crashed it off that old bridge?" "Yeah, I still can't believe we didn't get busted for that"—and watched what felt like the same building over and over again fly by outside the window. The temperature outside was on the cooler end of lukewarm, the sun in the cloudless sky keeping it from dipping below seventy-five, and Nathan wasn't running the heating or air conditioning. Toki felt mild in an unnerving way, too content, his brain going off places without bodily concerns to keep it at bay. His Saturday had, so far, had that sort of unnerving mild vibe, inappropriate for the season and the day's activities that he couldn't fight off no matter how hard he tried.

Seeing Skwisgaar waiting for him in the food court alleviated the funk. Nathan and Pickles dropped him off and drove away to hang out by themselves somewhere else; Toki intended to take a city bus home. Skwisgaar was hanging around by the doors to the food court, leaning against the wall in this perfect pinnacle of teenaged apathy that sort of turned Toki on, and he raised his eyebrows when he made eye contact with Toki. Toki smiled, all negativity leaving him at once, and walked towards Skwisgaar.

"Helloes," Skwisgaar said. He uncrossed his arms and grabbed Toki's hand. Toki had asked Skwisgaar about the handholding a few weeks ago, thinking it uncharacteristic of him the more he got to know him, and Skwisgaar had explained that it was a matter of pride, of showing Toki off. Toki delighted in that, if only that it meant he got to hold Skwisgaar's hand with frequently.

"Hi," Toki said, then went into his next sentence with enthusiasm. "I has an idea of what to gets for Pickle and Nathan but I don't really knows what to get for Moidaface yet. He is kinds of hard to buy for." He stuck his tongue between his teeth, thought about what to get Murderface for the umpteenth time, and failed. "See?" He said, like he had expected Skwisgaar to read his mind.

Skwisgaar looked at Toki, bemusement in his face, and shrugged. "I doesn't know Moidaface that well, sorries," he said. Toki shrugged back.

Christmas decorations hung from every surface of the mall, plastic red and green holly and bulbs rather ugly against the otherwise crisp beige and white, fluorescently lit decoration. Seasonal music played at a constant, low hum that made Skwisgaar grimace, though Toki was sort of into it. He dragged Skwisgaar up and down the mall to check out various holiday displays, bouncing with childlike wonder at it all, and Skwisgaar entertained him despite groans of protest. He drew the line at Toki seeing Santa Claus.

"You must be a part of de Claus Conspiracy," Toki said. Skwisgaar gave him and a look and Toki gave him an account of Pickles's last-day-of-school and mushroom-induced paranoia. Skwisgaar found it hilarious, stopping Toki in the middle of a crowded hallway and bending over with laughter. His laughter grew louder until it turned silent, body racking, as Toki tacked on more details of the day, from the intergalactic warfare to Rockzo's miniature cocaine pile.

Toki managed to reign in his seasonal excitement long enough to drag Skwisgaar into the dark novelty items store that hung at the back of the mall. "It ams like Hot Topic's older and more brutal brother," Toki explained as they stepped over the threshold. He went to the back, where they sold drug paraphernalia with vague names that allowed them to sell drug paraphernalia. "I want to gets Pickle a bong."

Skwisgaar picked up one in the shape of an ice cream cone and turned it over, looking at it from all sides, before putting it back. "I would think dat Pickles already has a zillions of dem."

"The governor ams making it illegals to sell dem in this state," Toki said. He frowned as he went through the boxes, trying to find one that represented Pickles. "Besides, I think he broke his old one." He lit up when he saw the perfect one, letting go of Skwisgaar's hand to grab the box.

"An octoganapause?" Skwisgaar said. He took the box from Toki's hands and held it close to his face like he was trying to figure out its hidden depth.

"Octopus," Toki corrected, though his accent made the word sound strange. He grabbed the box back and stuffed it under one arm, taking Skwisgaar's hand with the other. "Pickles totally looks like an octopus!"

"I guesses with dat hair anybody would," Skwisgaar said. His voice adopted an odd philosophical tone. Toki nodded along as if that statement was the most profound thing ever, making deep eye contact with Skwisgaar, then went to browse through more merchandise. He found skull-shaped candles that bled blood-red wax when they melted for Nathan and shot glasses in the shape of a pair of tits as well as some decorated with the Confederate flag for Murderface. He wished he could get more but the bong ate a considerable chunk of his budget (which was pooled for him by Nathan and Pickles, so he couldn't complain) and he felt that he owed more to Pickles than to the other guys. Toki carried his armful of items over to the cashier, a young woman with short blue hair and several facial piercings that smiled at Skwisgaar and Toki's interlocked fingers. Skwisgaar carried the bags without Toki asking him to.

They stopped at Hallmark so Toki could buy wrapping paper which Skwisgaar made him carry himself due to the "un-brutal, lame and babies" nature of Toki's taste in Christmas wrapping paper. Toki stuck his tongue out at Skwisgaar, who leaned in and mouthed it, not quite biting it, gathering looks from the people walking past them outside of Hallmark. They laughed and hurled empty insults down the walkway at anybody that dared to infringe upon them.

"What a good day," Toki said as they collected themselves and started walking again. There was still about an hour left to kill and Toki didn't want it to go to waste.

"Ja," Skwisgaar said. He crumpled his nose. "Even with this fuckingks musics." He scowled up at the ceiling. Toki leaned over and nuzzled under his jawline.

They ended up pressed against the wall of a fitting room like they did every time they came to the mall, Toki's friends' gifts dumped in a corner and spilling out of their bags, Skwisgaar's mouth hot and wet on Toki's neck as his fingers danced between the hem of Toki's shirt and the fly of his jeans. Toki moaned and grabbed Skwisgaar's hands, pushing it into his own pants, making noises of impatience that only served to make Skwisgaar go slower, tease more, his fingers snaking down the length of Toki's erection, all inside his jeans. A number of senses grabbed Toki in every direction—Skwisgaar's tongue moving into his mouth, Skwisgaar's hand finally grasping Toki's dick and pulling, Skwisgaar's other hand keeping both of Toki's pinned to the wall behind him, eradicating any possibility for coherent thought. Toki pushed forward with his hips and his hands, breaking free of Skwisgaar's grip and needling a hand between them, heading for Skwisgaar's cock, sighing when he got it into his hands. It felt important to get him off at the same time, or close to it, as Toki, so important, and Toki worked him as hard as he could and received in return. He broke their kiss and put his forehead in the crook of Skwisgaar's neck, shutting his eyes as he bucked his hips and came, his jeans pulled only just down his thighs and his cum spilling between them, getting on Skwisgaar's hands and both of their pants. It was not long until Skwisgaar came, their ejaculate mingling, and Toki lifted his head, their eyes meeting.

I love you, he thought, but it felt shallow in the wake of something sexual. He didn't voice it for that reason. There would come a time, but now was not that time.

Skwisgaar closed the gap and kissed Toki, soft and chaste, smiling as he did it. Toki lifted back and returned the smile, dazed. The novelty of a good handjob hadn't worn off yet. Every time he came it was a new, heartbreaking, mindshattering miracle, and he was totally amazed at Skwisgaar's ability to get him off, to make him feel so good, and it was totally amazing that he could do the same in return. They cleaned the cum off their hands and pants with a convenient handkerchief Skwisgaar had in his back pocket (though he insisted that it was some sort of fashion statement) and stayed in the fitting room for a few minutes, smiling at each other, nipping and touching.

"That fuckingks musics," Skwisgaar said, voice infected with fondness. "I could hears it de whole time." He looked towards the ceiling again.

Toki licked his Adam's apple and nosed along his neck. "Nows you cans associates it with the good memorski," he said. He had noticed that his English weakened the most in moments like these, happy and hazy post-orgasm trances.

Skwisgaar made a noncommittal noise of agreement and tugged at the hem of Toki's shirt as a signal that they need to get going. Toki flushed—he always did, when Skwisgaar toyed with Toki's clothes, reminding Toki that his skin was marred and ugly, unworthy, of the scars and the pain and the nastiness—and leaned back from Skwisgaar's neck. He wiggled away from Skwisgaar and collected the bags, carrying them all. Skwisgaar slid an arm around Toki's shoulders and they left the fitting room, passing a middle-aged man with five different flannel shirts in his arms on the way out.

They passed the rest of the time waiting for the bus and Mark (ever reliable Mark, who insisted that they rehearse every day, "probablies even on Chrissmast") sitting on a bench outside the mall as close as they could sit, their entire sides pressed into each other, arms on each other's lap so as not to get in the way. The bags of gifts laid at Toki's feet, the rolls of wrapping paper popping up between his knees.

"At least out here I ams away from dat horrible musics," Skwisgaar said.

Toki looked off and held a finger to his lips, making like he was giving the manner serious thought. "I don't knows," he said, drawing the words out. "I kind of likes it a lot." He looked back at Skwisgaar, face earnest, and Skwisgaar rolled his eyes. Toki scrunched his nose at him and pecked him on the lips. "I likes you more, though," he said, faces fractions of inches from Skwisgaar's.

"You ams so sappies," Skwisgaar said. His breath felt hot on Toki's mouth, smelled like Toki's toothpaste, presumably from the kissing earlier. "You ams de sappy king."

"That is the most mean thing you have ever said to me," Toki said. He pulled back and crossed his arms, pouting as a petulant child would, his cheek sucked between his teeth and face made up in a serious grimace.

"Yous baby," Skwisgaar said.

"Just kiddings." Toki leaned over Skwisgaar again and kissed him on the mouth, running his tongue across his lips but not breaking in between. He did it for three seconds—he counted—before bouncing back.

"Yous teasingks sappy baby," Skwisgaar amended. Toki shrugged without looking at him, smiling to himself. It felt like a battle he had won, just being with Skwisgaar, the back-and-forth nature of their teasing, the intermittent physical contact. A war in which he had been victorious. He understood Skwisgaar's source of pride in regards to the handholding, in regards to the entire relationship. They had everything to be proud of in each other.

The city bus rolled up in all of its environmentally unfriendly, gas guzzling and smoke belching ways. Toki stood up and collected his bags, leaned down to peck Skwisgaar on the lips and hold his gaze, telling him he'd see him at the party on Monday. Skwisgaar nodded and relaxed on the bench, knees falling open in a way that made Toki's heart contract, and Toki left for home.

Once home he went around to the backyard and stashed his friends' gifts in the shed that his father never used, among outdated lawn care equipment and bags of fertilizer. He wrapped them the next day before he went into the garden for his Sunday chores, using a roll of masking tape that was on a shelf in the shed and sitting cross-legged on the dirty floor while he worked. He hummed to himself, a Christmas tune leftover from Norway, and thought about the upcoming party, of tasting his own toothpaste on Skwisgaar's tongue, of the new bruises the size of his father's fingers around his ankle. When he finished the gifts he put them inside of the Hallmark bag, putting the other bags and used rolls of wrapping paper away with the miscellaneous shed items that he might or might not use one day in the future. He got up and dusted his pants off before going to work in the garden, the air on the cooler side that day and a harsh wind causing Toki's loose sweatshirt to flutter around his midsection.

He worked as hard as he could to maintain his dutiful son image, going above and beyond on chores, behaving as best as he could, going to church and play-praying, all out of the hope that his parents would allow him to go to the party. They liked to let him go places and then punish him for following up on it sometimes, and he was even hoping to whatever deity that didn't exist for that. He'd been so, so lucky lately, and he was so, so afraid of losing that luck. That did not appear to be the case, however, and over dinner that night his father reconfirmed his permission. Toki gave silent thanks over his salmon.

He called Skwisgaar before bed that night. Skwisgaar recounted a particularly horrible incident involving Fuckface Academy, a festival show, a goat, and George while Toki went around his room and made sure he was prepared for the next day. He laid out his clothes and double-checked the jeans for Skwisgaar's mixtape—it was still there and the marker hadn't smudged at all—with his phone cocked between his ear and neck, smiling as Skwisgaar went on about the goat, adding commentary and laughing when appropriate. He stripped and crawled into bed still on the phone, Skwisgaar's story shifting into something about catching Mark jacking off to soft-core porn, and fell asleep with that as his bedtime story. He woke up with the phone still on his ear and panicked, worrying that his parents might have come in and seen it, but figured that they probably would've woken him up and knocked his teeth out if they had. He took his phone from his ear and found that while Skwisgaar had obviously hung up he had also texted him, a rarity: U falls asleeps lyk a baybee. Gud nites babybees. Toki smiled; for Skwisgaar, that was an elaborate and romantic gesture.

He did his Monday chores, cleaning the kitchen, taking the garbage out, vacuuming everywhere there was carpet in the house, washing the windows and watering the plants, humming an American Christmas carol under his breath. His father was out on work and his mother shopping, giving Toki the house to himself. He expected Nathan at three in the afternoon and he killed the time between his chores and Nathan's arrival by doing some homework and reading from the dictionary. He took a shower, combed his hair out, and got dressed at two-thirty, got his gifts from the shed, triple-checked for Skwisgaar's mixtape, then resigned himself to the porch and waited. The temperature outside was in the low sixties, a gentle wind pushing around the permanently green tree leaves.

It was only Nathan that picked him up, wearing an ugly Christmas sweater and looking about as happy about that as Toki would expect him to. "Don't ask," Nathan grunted out, not meeting Toki's eyes, and took off in the direction of Nathan's house. Toki didn't ask, just deposited the bag of gifts between his legs, quadruple-checked for the mixtape, and reveled in the opportunity to sit in the passenger's seat.

Pickles was at Nathan's house, his body draped over the couch in the main living room of Nathan's house. Also in the living room was an impressive tree with presents underneath, twinkling with lights. Pickles had a plate of Christmas cookies sitting on his chest, misshapen and sloppily iced, and craned his neck to look at them as Toki followed Nathan into the main living room. Toki deposited his bag of gifts on an end table. Pickles offered Toki a cookie and he took it; despite the horrible ugliness, it was a damn good cookie.

"Made 'em myself," Pickles said, boasting. "They, uh, have weed in them." Toki shrugged; that was all the better.

"I guess we'll just hang here before the party," Nathan said. He sat himself down on a tasteful armchair. The fireplace in the living room, which stood where a television would go if the living room wasn't so formal, crackled with a small fire. Nathan, with his long hair neatly parted and ugly Christmas sweater, did not look out of place.

"Yeah," Pickles said, agreeing. Toki walked around and sat on the couch, next to one of Pickles's feet, as the other was hooked around the back of the couch. Pickles wasn't wearing shoes and his socks had reindeers on them, matching Nathan's sweater almost perfectly. "Since we're meetin' Murderface there 'n' all. And we're pickin' up Skwisgaar on the way."

"We are?" Picles shot Nathan a look. "Oh, yeah, I mean, of course we are, right." Nathan cleared his throat and looked at the fireplace. "I guess that's kind of brutal," he said. Pickles rolled his eyes and plopped a cookie in his mouth. "Burning shit at Christmas, I mean." He looked back at them. "Do you know how fucking hard it is to make Christmas brutal?"

"I don't think Christmas is supposed to be brutal," Toki said. "I think it's supposed to be a happy time for gift-giving and good food and friends—"

"Just when I thought you couldn't get any worse," Pickles interrupted. He looked at the ceiling with glazed eyes, the fireplace and Christmas tree lights casting strange shadows over his face.

Nathan chuckled then stopped, returning his face to its standard scowl. "I chopped that tree down myself. Well, with my dad, my dad was there. But I actually, like, killed it. I guess that's brutal."

"Brutal," Toki said, nodding in agreement. "I just don't think that's the point of the holiday, is all."

"Agree to disagree," Pickles said in lieu of Nathan. He proffered the plate of cookies to Toki and Toki took another one, a botched attempt at a Christmas tree with glowing green icing that instead looked like some sort of alien phallus, and ate it. While Toki ate his cookie, Pickles asked Nathan, "Do y'know if Charles is gonna be at Dick's?"

"No, he's not, he said he had, uh—" Nathan dug his phone out from his front pocket and checked something. "He said he had 'other obligations,' whatever that means." He put his phone back.

"'Kay," Pickles said. He bit a neon yellow stocking cap off an elf with a frightening face. Nathan kicked his boots off and relaxed further in the armchair, apparently dropping into a slumber.

Pickles and Toki got stoned off the cookies and stayed on the couch, talking bullshit stoner stuff as they went through their high. Toki got up to rekindle the fireplace and almost caught himself on fire in the process, making Pickles laugh so hard it woke Nathan up mid-snore, which proceeded to make Pickles laugh harder. After that they checked the time and realized they should probably get going, Nathan pulling on his boots again and Pickles taking his phone out to check his reflection in the front camera and fix his dreadlocks. Toki went into the kitchen, where he found Mrs. Explosion in the middle of baking, then went instead to the hallway by the basement to call Skwisgaar and tell him they were on their way.

Fuckface Academy lived in a shabby slum that reminded Toki of Dick's apartment complex at the fringes of downtown. The walls were paneled with dark wood and weathered, a rickety looking set of steps leading to the recently taped-up front door. Skwisgaar sat on those steps, looking angelic in an outfit of all white, and he got up when Nathan pulled up to the curb. Skwisgaar let himself in and sat next to Toki in the middle seat, not bothering with a seatbelt.

"Helloes," Toki said, leaning his forehead against Skwisgaar's. Pickles narrowed his eyes, still glazed over, and Nathan made a vaguely disgusted noise in his throat.

Skwisgaar moved his forehead against Toki's as an acknowledgement of Toki's greeting and spoke, directed at Nathan. "Nice truck," he said, and it was a little sarcastic. Toki snorted. Nathan made the same noise in his throat. Pickles narrowed his eyes further. Overall, it was a good representation of how the rest of the ride to the party, which was rather short, went.

Toki held Skwisgaar's hand tight as they walked to Dick's apartment, unable to stop himself from getting spooked at it. Skwisgaar stuck his nose up. "Even the place I lives in ams better than dis," he said, sneering at the peeling wallpaper. "Jesus Christsmast."

The door to Dick's apartment was unlocked. Skwisgaar and Toki followed behind Nathan and Pickles, Nathan opening the door first and letting loud and remixed Christmas music spill into the hallway. Inside the apartment were a few people—it wasn't the official time for the party yet—including Murderface, hanging out in the kitchen, chatting up a mousy girl and drinking something thick and yellow from a chipped jam jar. Dick was nowhere to be seen, probably in his bedroom doing lines of coke off a picture of himself or something. Nathan and Pickles went into the kitchen towards Murderface. For lack of better things to do, Skwisgaar and Toki followed. The mousy girl's attention turned towards Skwisgaar at once, her eyes trailing down from his eyes and stopping when she saw Toki and Skwisgaar's hands, her face reddening. Toki squeezed Skwisgaar's hand as Skwisgaar leered at the poor girl.

"Hey, you guysch!" Murderface was saying at the same time, clapping Pickles on the back with the hand that wasn't holding the jam jar concoction. Nathan sighed and blew a piece of hair out of his face.

"Where can I get me one of these?" Pickles said, pointing at the jam jar. "What is that, eggnog?" He stood on his toes to peer into the jar, lowering his nose to sniff it.

"It'sch like eggnog, yesch," Murderface said. He moved aside to reveal a plastic drink dispenser containing more of the yellow slosh and a row of red Solo cups. Pickles grabbed a cup and pumped some of the eggnog-like substance into it, then threw it back in one gulp and got to pumping some more.

"You want some?" he asked Nathan, who nodded. Pickles handed the cup he was holding to Nathan and got another for himself.

"I doesn't thinks I trusts dat," Skwisgaar said to Toki, tossing an aside glance. Toki nodded.

"Dick keeps better stuff in the cabinet," Toki said. "We can get some later." It was Skwisgaar's turn to nod.

Dick emerged then, wearing lens-less glasses in the style of ornaments. That reminded Toki to look around the room and observe, so he did so, turning his head around. There was a lot of mistletoe in odd places, like above the stove and suspended from the ceiling by a long string in the middle of the space between the kitchen and living room. Dick's stereo was blasting what Toki could only describe as dubstep Christmas carols and there were a few scraggly college-aged kids Toki recognized from previous parties thrown by Dick hanging around it and drinking eggnog slush. There were Christmas lights hung on the walls, lit up despite the fact that the actual apartment lights were also on, though Dick seemed to be in the process of going through and turning them all off as Toki looked around the room. He reconnected with Skwisgaar when the light in the kitchen went off, both of them raising their eyebrows. Skwisgaar rolled his eyes up and Toki followed along, seeing more random mistletoe above them. They kissed, a true kiss, deep and with tongue, forgetting everything else in the world but each other for a second. They separated when Nathan cleared his throat, unashamed.

They shot the shit with Dick while more people filed in until, eventually, the apartment was packed, people pressing up on Toki from all sides. Skwisgaar and Toki fought their way towards the cabinets and pulled out a bottle of vodka, giggling to themselves as they went off with it. They found a clear space at the end of the hallway that also led to the bathroom, Dick's bedroom and an office-type room that seemed to house nothing but junk; some chick and some dude were having sex on top of a busted amp, the door open. The hallway was narrow and Skwisgaar and Toki sat on either wall, their legs tangling between them. There was more mistletoe above them; they leaned in as far as they could and kissed.

Skwisgaar took a swig of vodka and passed the bottle to Toki. "So, Chistianmast," he said. His voice was elevated, Christmas dubstep and the couple on the amp's sex noises in the background.

"Christmas." Toki nodded. He had a residual high and the atmosphere of Dick's apartment was not helping it. The low lighting made everything feel so unreal, ethereal. "Is fucking awesome."

"You thinks so?" Skwisgaar leaned over their knees and took the bottle from Toki, drinking some and then separating Toki's lips with his fingers and pouring some into Toki's mouth.

Toki swallowed and nodded, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "You gives people presents and makes them happy and the whole holiday ams so happy! So happy. Happy happy happy." He was on the verge of tears.

Skwisgaar laughed, waving the bottle of vodka around like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Does your family celebrates it?" he asked, amusement thick in his voice. "Christmas trees and presents and Sandy Caws and—and—and milk and warm cookies?" The amusement devolved into laughter as he went down his sentence.

Something inside of Toki fell. "No," he said, soft. He took the vodka from Skwisgaar's hands and guzzled it. "My family celebrates it. Not like dat. With church. Lots and lots of church." He drank more.

"Yowza," Skwisgaar said. He took the bottle from Toki and set it down against the wall at the end of the hallway. He cupped Toki's chin with one hand and established eye contact. "Toki, ams you okay?" he asked.

Toki looked at Skwisgaar, then shook his head out of his grip. "Fine," Toki said. He said it hollow; it felt hollow. He shook his head again and took the bottle of vodka. "Abso-fucking-lutelies fine." He gave the vodka to Skwisgaar to drink.

Skwisgaar cocked his head and gave a peculiar look but drank from the bottle. "Well, I's never celerybraked it," he said. He licked his lips. "My mom ams was always busies."

"I's sorry," Toki said. He leaned forward and put his lips against Skwisgaar's, not quite a kiss, just a comfort. A mouth-hug, he thought to himself, then took Skwisgaar in an actual hug. Skwisgaar set the bottle down and returned it. They probably looked a little ridiculous, leaning over their own legs and hugging each other's shoulders, their heads buried into the other's necks, at the end of the hallway with mistletoe above them. Toki didn't care; Skwisgaar obviously didn't care, his grip tight, his lips kissing the fabric on Toki's shoulder. It was Christmastime—this was Christmas, to Toki. Caring. Giving.

He pulled back from the embrace and Skwisgaar looked confused at first until Toki pulled the mixtape from his pocket. "A gift," Toki explained, handing it to Skwisgaar. "For you. For Christmas."

Skwisgaar examined it from every angle as he tended to do with new objects presented to him. He took the CD from the cover and wore it on his finger, spinning it, then put it back. He read the back of the cover, his eyebrows shooting into his hairline, then looked at Toki. His face was serious, but not in a bad way, Toki assumed and-slash-or hoped. "Thank you," Skwisgaar said. He sniffled. "This ams de nicest gift I has ever gotten." He put the mixtape in the pocket of his own jeans and untangled his legs from Toki's. Toki looked at him; Skwisgaar kept talking. "Comes with me to de bathsroom," Skwisgaar said, offering a hand to Toki to assist him in getting up.

"Uh, okay," Toki said. Skwisgaar held his hand with a loose grip as he led him into the bathroom. Toki wondered how he knew that was the door to the bathroom; must've been a lucky guess. The door was unlocked and there was nobody in it. Dick's bathroom could only be described as sad, a small sink, toilet and bathtub looking lonely and desolate, the white of their paint chipping off in places and the blue of the tiles on the upper half of the wall the exact shade Toki would assign to the word melancholy. There was a single cream-colored towel folded over the rim of the bathtub. The bathroom was clean, at least, Toki thought.

"I was goingks to waits until de actual day of Crispmust," Skwisgaar said. His hands were on Toki's hips, steering him against the wall by the door. Toki had the presence of mind to reach out and lock the door while Skwisgaar's mouth moved up and down Toki's face. "I was goingks to comes inside your room and gives dis to you." His mouth kept moving down while his hand worked the hem of Toki's shirt up, almost like he was going to take it off. Toki let him push it up to reveal his stomach—there were no scars there, only the taut muscle of his midsection—but held it around nipple level with one hand, the other hand on Skwisgaar's face and eventually moving into his hair. Toki was starting to get an idea of where this was going. "I was goingks to do that," Skwisgaar said. "But I thinks dat dis ams de better option." He unzipped Toki's jeans with his teeth; Toki didn't even know that was possible.

Skwisgaar took his hands from Toki's hip them, rolling Toki's jeans and boxers down, freeing his hardening cock. The situation felt scandalous—they were in a bathroom at a party where Toki's friends were like ten feet away socializing and drinking toxic eggnog slush—and therefore exciting, cool and fresh air friendly to Toki's dick, and then—oh. That was not air. That was a tongue, Skwisgaar's tongue, trailing up and down and all around, everywhere at once, around his balls, fuck, he really didn't know this was possible. His hips rolled forward without his permission and Skwisgaar slammed the heel of his hand into Toki's hipbone, a warning. A warning indeed because then Skwisgaar was taking him into his mouth, working his way up the length of Toki's shaft, and this was the most amazing thing Toki had ever felt. Colors exploded on the back of his eyes and his hand wrapped in Skwisgaar's hair, he swore he found God, swore he felt God, he started to thrust. Skwisgaar kept one hand pressed into Toki's hip and used the other to work what he couldn't get in his mouth, switching between the base and Toki's balls, and it felt like both an eternity and a millisecond, and then Toki was coming the hardest he had ever came. Skwisgaar swallowed.

There were tears in Toki's eyes but he wasn't crying, didn't feel like he should be crying. Toki pushed his shirt down and put himself back in his pants as Skwisgaar came up, licking his lips. Fuck. "Fuck," Toki said, looking at Skwisgaar. "Fuck," he said again. "Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuckarooni fuckballs fuck."

"Fuckballs," was all Skwisgaar said. He was smirking, that bastard. Toki panted at him for a few seconds and then Skwisgaar was talking again, unable to shut up. "Merry Cristianmarbles,"

Toki looked at Skwisgaar, thick lips puffed with activity and hair knotted up from Toki's fingers, and then Toki pounced on Skwisgaar, assaulting him via tongue and lips and hands. He wanted to return the favor. He hadn't a slightest clue of how to do so but what he just experienced felt like a religious experience, the fucking pinnacle of Christmas. Skwisgaar stumbled backwards until his calves hit the bathtub, Toki kissing him all the way. Skwisgaar peeled his shirt off and tossed it into the bathtub. They sunk down, Skwisgaar's back against the tub, Toki's head moving down. It was a weird position to give a blowjob in, he recognized, almost laying on his stomach, but he got to work. He tried to do what Skwisgaar had done for him, licking, and repeated what elicited the most titillating of noises from Skwisgaar, which happened to be dragging his tongue underneath the shaft. He played with Skwisgaar's balls with one hand and then he took him into his mouth. It wasn't nearly as easy as Skwisgaar made it look and Toki felt himself coming close to gagging the farther he took him in until he was physically unable to go further. Skwisgaar had both hands in Toki's hair, strands wrapped around his fingers and tugging, and it hurt but hurt in a good way. In all honestly it was probably a sub-par blowjob, not nearly as sexy as Skwisgaar's had been, but Toki tried his hardest. Skwisgaar came on his face, which Skwisgaar seemed to like a surprising amount and also surprised Toki by how much he liked it. He licked some cum up to see what it tasted like. Disgusting, he noted, salty and undesirable, but he ate some anyway out of some weird mix of curiosity and obligation.

"We," Skwisgaar said, pausing to collect himself. He handed Toki the towel from the rim on the bathtub; Toki cleaned his face. "Will has to works on dat."

"Sorry," Toki said. He frowned. Skwisgaar reached a hand out to pause Toki in the process of wiping his cum off his face, looking at him. Skwisgaar was earnest, face uncolored by judgment or maliciousness, and Toki took the opportunity to take in the beauty of Skwisgaar's natural, plain face. It hurt, almost, that beauty.

"Don't worries about it," Skwisgaar said, voice soft. "You will gets better." He kissed Toki, which was sort of weird because they had both just had their mouths on each other's dicks, but the griminess seemed appealing in the moment.

"Okay," Toki said, breaking the kiss. He stood up and checked his face in the mirror, then wet the towel in the sink and washed his face off, still feeling unclean. Skwisgaar put his shirt back on and moved to stand behind Toki, wrapping his hands around his waist, dropping his chin on his shoulder. Privacy, Toki thought, and intimacy. He smiled at Skwisgaar's reflection, which smiled back, eyes crinkling. Toki tossed the towel in the direction of the bathtub, unconcerned about its future or its future user, and they left the bathroom holding hands.

They went into the main part of the party and found Nathan, Pickles, Murderface and Dick. Dick was sober; he was to drive them home in Nathan's truck, one of his friends to follow him and take him home. The other guys were pretty drunk, sitting in a strange combination on the couch, Pickles in Nathan's lap Murderface with his head in Pickles's lap, his feet in Dick's. Dick was staring at the retro television in front of the couch, the screen shattered from an incident involving Nathan and a football from last year, a plant growing inside of it.

"You," Pickles said, directing unfocused and watery eyes towards Skwisgaar and Toki, "totally look like you just got laid." As he spoke he dragged his hands across Murderface's face.

"Sort of," Toki said, shrugging and looking at Skwisgaar. Skwisgaar gave a one-shouldered shrug of agreement.

"That isch scho fucking grossch," Murderface groaned. He held his hands to his head, swatting away Pickles's and then covering his eyes. "Isch the room on fire for any of you guysch too?"

"No," Nathan said. His eyes lolled in his head. "But I think I'm in an aquarium." He pointed at the television like that would prove his point.

"I think it may be time to get you guys home," Dick said. He moved Murderface's feet off his lap and stood up. "That eggnog is…really strong. Unusually strong. I swear I did not make it that strong."

"Eggnog," Pickles said. He crossed his hands over his stomach, his heels snagging on Murderface's skin and dragging it down. "Eggnog."

"Yes, eggnog," Dick said. He ran a hand through his hair and looked at Skwisgaar and Toki, almost like he expected them to be voices of reasons, which was ridiculous in its own right.

Somebody came up and engaged Dick in conversation, drawing his attention elsewhere. Skwisgaar sat on the couch where Dick had and invited Toki to his lap; Toki sat down, leaning his forehead in against Skwisgaar's neck. Things were feeling kind of swimmy, like they were in an aquarium, and Toki didn't know if that was from the residual high, the vodka, the blowjob, Skwisgaar, Christmas, or a combination of all five. He might have fallen asleep on Skwisgaar—he didn't remember—but the rest of the party became a blur. The only memory that would really stand out as clear later on would be that of Murderface stripping naked, slapping his dick into a Santa hat and asking women if they'd like to sit on his lap. This was followed by Pickles shouting more things about the Claus Conspiracy and bursting into tears; the memory cut off at Skwisgaar developing a cramp in his side from laughter and Nathan tackling Murderface to the floor.

Toki became lucid again somewhere on the car ride home, feeling like he'd woken from a sleep as he lifted his head from Skwisgaar's neck and looked around the car. Dick was driving, Pickles curled up and asleep in the passenger's seat, Nathan sitting with one of his arms over the back of the passenger seat with that hand resting on Pickles's shoulder, Skwisgaar beside Toki, perfectly awake. Skwisgaar looked at Toki when Toki stirred.

"What a nights," Skwisgaar said. He shook his head. "Yous friends ams insane."

"I can hear that," Nathan said from off to the side. Skwisgaar waved his hand in Nathan's general direction.

"They ams great, though," Toki said, looking up through his eyelashes at Skwisgaar. "You can hear dat too, right, Nathan?" He leaned over Skwisgaar to look at Nathan while he said it.

Nathan made a noise in his throat and rubbed Pickles's shoulder to wake him up; they were outside of Nathan's house now, Dick stopping the truck. Pickles jerked awake and unbuckled his seatbelt, also coming into lucidity. Toki wondered if the eggnog was drugged and then wrote that off as ridiculous as he hadn't had any. Maybe it had been the cookies that were drugged—drugged with something else, that was.

"Well, Merry Christmas," Dick said, establishing eye contact to each of them. He lingered on Skwisgaar, a silent plea of please let me manage and-slash-or produce your band please laying underneath his words.

"Great party," Nathan said. He opened his door and got out. Pickles followed and then Skwisgaar and Toki, coming through Nathan's side. Dick got out as well, since it was Nathan's truck and his friend was waiting for him behind them in a stylish little black car, and gave them a little wave before he got in his friend's car and they took off.

"Wait a seconds," Skwisgaar said, stopping the group in the middle of Nathan's lawn as they walked towards Nathan's front door. He looked around at Nathan's house, the manicured lawn and standard two stories illuminated by the light of his neighbor's own raging Christmas party. "What de fucks am I doingks here?"

"Does you wants to spends de night?" Toki asked, eager. Skwisgaar as an extension to their group felt natural, so natural, foursome becoming a fivesome, and surely the other guys felt it too.

"Well, ja," Skwisgaar said. He shot a look at Toki like he was stupid.

"Cans he? Oh, please, cans he?" Toki looked back and forth between Nathan and Pickles, three seconds short of dropping to his knees and begging them.

Pickles looked at Nathan. The two began some sort of silent conversation while Murderface started to sputter. "Why the fuck doeschn't anybody ask me about thesche thingsch?!" He screeched, tearing at his own hair and shouting towards the starless city sky.

"Come on, guys, it's fucking Christmas," Toki pleaded. Beside them the frat boys' house was alight with decoration and music, apparently having a party of their own. Even the gnomes seemed festive—it appeared that they had put Santa hats on each of them. Toki hoped Pickles didn't see it.

"Sure, fine, whatever, I guess, okay," Pickles said. He sighed and fell into Nathan's side. Nathan helped put Pickles back on his feet and they went inside the house. Toki made sure to grab his gifts from the living room end table before they went up to Nathan's room. Nathan's mother had left three trays of Christmas cookies out for them—ones without marijuana, Toki assumed—and Nathan collected them.

In Nathan's room they dropped into their usual positions only with Skwisgaar at Toki's side beneath the windowsill. Toki opened the bag containing his gifts and got up to pass them to the proper person.

"Really, Toki," Nathan said as Toki deposited his gift beside him on his bed. "Really."

"I don't trust this," Pickles said as Toki placed his beside him on the floor by Nathan's bed. "Seems an awful like the Claus to me."

"Hey, Picklesch, look out the window," Murderface said as Toki put his gift in front of him on Nathan's computer desk.

Pickles got up and looked out the window, then promptly stumbled backwards and fell on his ass, his eyes wide and bloodshot. "Fucking—an army! An army of Santa Clauses! Oh, mother of all that is good—"

"Pickles," Nathan said. He nudged Pickles with his foot from where he sat on the bed. "Shut up."

Pickles closed his eyes and nuzzled Nathan's leg. Once he had calmed himself down he scrambled back to where he had been and opened his gift. "Toki, you really shouldn't have," he said as he pulled the bong box and examined it.

"Is that an octopus?" Nathan asked. He plucked the box from Pickles's hand; Pickles crossed his arms. "I see the resemblance. I think." He gave the box back to Pickles.

Toki nodded and made encouraging hand motions for Nathan to open his own gift. Nathan did so, unwrapping the candles without any particular skill. "Oh, man, these are awesome, thanks, Toki. Pickles, can I have your lighter?" Pickles gave Nathan his lighter. Nathan set one of the candles on the bedside table and lit it, then put the rest inside the drawer to the table.

"My turn!" Murderface said. He unwrapped his gift in a haste, getting wrapping paper everywhere. He pulled out the tits shot glass first. "Fuck yesch," he said. He pulled the Confederate flag ones out next. "Oh, man, oh man, Toki, man."

"You're welcome, you guys," Toki said. He beamed as he took in everybody looking at their gifts. Pickles liked his bong even if he pretended not to; Nathan watched the candle bleed red wax; Murderface felt his shot glass up. Beside him, Skwisgaar nudged Toki, bringing him to a kiss while everybody was distracted. Toki understood that as Skwisgaar's way of congratulating him.

"Hey," Pickles said, drawing Skwisgaar and Toki back to reality and speaking like he'd come to a great revelation. "Ain't the world supposed to end tonight? December 21st, 2012?" He looked up from his bond, which he had retrieved from the box, and around the room at its various members.

"Yeah, I think so," Nathan said, looking up from the candle. "Or, I mean. I hope so. That is like all I want for Christmas. That would be so brutal."

"Fucking yesch it would," Murderface said, nodding in agreement. He ran a thumb over one of the tits on his shot glass.

Toki and Skwisgaar exchanged a look. "Yeah, it would bes pretty brutals," Skwisgaar said. There was a pause in conversation as everybody looked at Skwisgaar, each evaluating the fact that he had just contributed to the conversation, before deciding that apparently that was okay. Skwisgaar looked mildly uncomfortable.

"Well," Pickles said. He placed his bong against the wall by Nathan's bed and laid down on the floor, curling his knees to his chest. "I'm. I'm gonna go to sleep now." He yawned. Nathan threw one of the blankets on his bed on top of Pickles and Pickles was off and asleep.

"Me too," Nathan said. He took off his sweater and tossed it at the foot of his bed, then his boots, socks, and jeans, worming his way beneath his giant comforter and rolling over. Murderface began to snore from the computer chair, his arms crossed and heavy boots up on the desk, new shot glasses lined up in front of him.

Skwisgaar and Toki looked at each other again, at a loss from what to do. "Ams you tired?" Toki asked.

"Noes," Skwisgaar said. He looked around at Toki's friends. "I thinks it ams because we ams not as drunks as they are," he said, waving his hand and explaining away the behavior as a result of the eggnog.

"Yeah," Toki said, agreeing. "We could go down to the basement and watch television or something," he suggested. The or something seemed to spark Skwisgaar's interest. They took their shoes off and left them under the windowsill in lieu of their bodies, walking as quietly as they could out of the room and down the stairs, then into the basement. They made out on the couch, Skwisgaar sitting and Toki straddling him, lazy and noncommittal at first but working up in a crescendo. Toki was really starting to get into it, Skwisgaar's mouth working his shoulder with the hem of his shirt pushed aside, his hands holding onto Toki's ass and Toki reaching a hand between them, until Skwisgaar moved his hands and nearly pushed Toki's shirt up.

Toki stopped, feeling like he'd been the victim of an electrical shock or a gunshot and jumped back and onto his feet. He took Skwisgaar's hand and held them together to prevent him from doing anything else. Skwisgaar snatched his hands from Toki and looked at him, his face a mixture of befuddlement and offense. Toki flushed and sighed. For one, that was a total boner killer, and for two, he didn't want to explain, not so fucking close to Christmas. Not now.

"De fucks?" Skwisgaar said after a few awkward and silent seconds.

"I…" Toki began, then faltered. He had no words. No excuse. No explanation. He sighed again. "Not now," he said. Vague terms, but it worked. "Not on Christmas. Or, well, close to Christmas. I'll explain soon, okays? Just…don't pulls my shirt up." He attempted a smile.

"You ams so weird," Skwisgaar said. He gestured for Toki to come closer and Toki did. Skwisgaar hooked his fingers on Toki's belt loops. "But I will gives you de benefits of de doubts, I guesses." He sighed himself and put his forehead against Toki's chest. "It ams late. We should sleeps."

"Yeah," Toki said.

He let Skwisgaar lower him down onto the couch. The couch was wide enough to fit Skwisgaar's skinny frame and Toki's brawny one with both of them on their backs, Toki using Skwisgaar's arm for a pillow and half-laying on him, his arm draped across Skwisgaar's chest. Skwisgaar used the hand that wasn't stroking Toki's shoulder to pull the afghan that hung on the couch down on them, pooling in their laps and not providing any particular warmth. It felt comfortable, though. It all felt comfortable. The world could end; Toki wouldn't care. Toki curled into Skwisgaar's chest and Skwisgaar put his other arm around him, turning his head to bury it in Toki's hair. It wasn't long before they fell asleep, their legs hooked onto each other like building blocks that were made to fit together.


	9. Ten Days After the End of the World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's a good one. There's something for everybody, I think. Yay for monthly updates! I would also like to thank my beta, Misty Day, for helping me with this chapter. I'm excited to hear what the readers think of it.

Predictably, the world did not end, and Toki awoke to a knock on his window at one o'clock in the morning on a Wednesday—Thursday, actually, since it was after midnight—night. The knocking was soft but Toki woke easily. He blinked away the sleep and fuzziness, rolled over onto his other side, and smiled when he saw Skwisgaar's face in the window, his fist poised to knock again. He acknowledged Toki with a nod as Toki sat up on the bed and stretched. It was cold in his room—his parents made sure he had no air conditioning or heating—and he wore a long sleeved shirt and sweatpants. He'd gotten in the habit of covering himself up when Skwisgaar got in the habit of making nightly visits, which frustrated him, because it really should be the opposite.

He got up and opened the window, stepping back so Skwisgaar could climb in. He'd gotten more adept at it, not needing Toki to support him as he crammed his body through the window, but he reached out to hold onto Toki's shoulder anyway. Superfluous touches still made Toki's skin tingle with excitement. Once Skwisgaar was inside Toki's room Toki shut the window while Skwisgaar fixed his hair and clothes.

"Helloes," Toki said, doing the latches on the window.

"Helloes," Skwisgaar said. He turned Toki towards him and kissed him, both hands on Toki's shoulders. Toki smiled through it.

They parted and Skwisgaar sat on Toki's bed, leaning against the wall and looking smug and like he belonged there. Toki sat beside him and mirrored his position, though he layered his left leg over Skwisgaar's right. They held hands between their bodies and stared at Toki's door. The lights were off and it was dark but Skwisgaar seemed to glow, which had more to do with his paleness than anything else, but Toki appreciated the quality nonetheless.

"Ams you excited for de parties tonight?" Skwisgaar asked, picking his and Toki's conjoined hands up and running a thumb over Toki's skin before putting their hands down again. He spoke in a low voice, both in pitch and tone, his eyes cast down at their hands.

"Yeah," Toki whispered, keeping himself from yelling. They had to be quiet to avoid detection but that did not diminish Toki's joy in the least. "Ams you?"

"I doesn't care," Skwisgaar said. He picked their hands up again. "It has been almost an year since I comes to dis country." He put their hands down again. That was starting to get on Toki's nerves so he took their adjoined hands into his lap, flipping their arms so that he could see the underside of Skwisgaar's.

"Reallys?" He traced a vein in Skwisgaar's arm with his index finger. His eyes were adjusting to the darkness, the navy of Skwisgaar's veins against the ivory of his skin visible.

Skwisgaar nodded. He was watching Toki's fingers move up and down the veins in his arms, like Toki was tracing over a subway map to confirm his chosen route. "I comes after my birthday in March, ja? It ams almost March."

"I didn't knows yous birthday in March," Toki said. He looked up and at Skwisgaar and cocked his head to the side.

"Well," Skwisgaar said, "it ams." He lifted his head and met Toki's eyes. Toki startled.

"Moidaface just had his birthday," Toki said. "I wasn't allowed to go to de parties." He frowned and went back to drawing his fingers up Skwisgaar's arms. He'd lost the vein and was just padding the skin, working his way up. Despite the frigid weather outside Skwisgaar was wearing a thin muscle shirt; his skin was warm, conditioned by the harsher Swedish weather, and smooth, the sinewy muscle of his upper arm appealing. Sometimes the nightly visits would devolve into making out and sometimes they wouldn't, but Toki was starting to think that this one would be the former, and he was pretty okay with that.

"Yous wasn't allowed?" Skwisgaar asked. He sounded distracted, which might have had something to do with the fact that Toki was leaning over his lap, pushing his hair behind his ear and placing his mouth on the skin just below, nibbling.

Toki felt it unnecessary to respond.

Skwisgaar pushed Toki off of him and into the bed, silencing Toki's surprised utterance with his mouth, swallowing Toki's sound. Toki responded by slinging one of his legs around Skwisgaar's back and arching his own, grinding their crotches together and trying to work up some friction. Skwisgaar matted his hands in Toki's hair and rolled off of him, towards the side, and their mouths stayed on each other's out of necessity more than desire. They couldn't move much or make too much sound in case Toki's parents could hear. It violated both of their personalities, Toki felt, this silenced and passionless fooling around, and sometimes his brain would begin to wander in the dark. It had been exciting at first, a new layer of danger to add a new layer of arousal, but now Toki felt paranoid, uncertain. He pushed a hand up Skwisgaar's shirt and ran it across his chest, his own invitation for Skwisgaar to do the same to him, a compromise he had developed in lieu of removing his shirt.

He pulled back and kept pulling when Skwisgaar wrapped a hand around his neck to drag him back. Toki placed his fingers on Skwisgaar's bottom lip then let them drag down his skin, towards his belt buckle, the proud flag of Sweden. Skwisgaar rolled onto his back, getting where Toki was going, and stuffed his knuckles in his mouth as Toki undid his belt and unzipped his jeans, rolling them down and unearthing his cock, stroking it a few times before bending to take it into his mouth. He had been terrible at blowjobs in the beginning, inexpert, but with practice comes progress. He looked Skwisgaar in his eyes as he took his cock down his throat, slow to the point of torture. He'd gotten better at taking it but couldn't get the whole length in his mouth, didn't think he ever would be able to, but it didn't matter. He ringed the base with his fingers and worked him, getting off on the way Skwisgaar closed his eyes and jammed his head back in the mattress as his hips came forward, how he bit into his knuckles and made strangled sounds in his throat. Beautiful, Toki thought, absolutely beautiful, and when Skwisgaar had come he swallowed. He'd learned to love the taste.

"Fucks," Skwisgaar said as he came to a sitting position and drew Toki into a kiss, knotting the front of his shirt in the hand with the gnawed-on knuckles. Toki drew back to take Skwisgaar's hands and suck on the knuckles, licking the imprints that Skwisgaar's teeth had left on them, tasting his saliva. Toki moved Skwisgaar's hand from his mouth to his dick, full and heavy in his pajama pants, and Skwisgaar moved closer, taking Toki in both of his hands and working it. Toki balled the sheets on his bed and raised them towards his mouth, stuffing it, and it was not long before he came with a flourish of his hips. He lowered the sheets from his mouth and panted, chest heaving, focusing his energy on not making noise.

They arranged themselves into a spooning position afterwards, Toki facing the open window, a soft breeze rolling in. He was sleepy and could've fallen asleep had he not been preoccupied with the constant worry that his parents would burst through the door and kill him. Skwisgaar's knees were pressed into the spaces behind Toki's, his nose buried somewhere in Toki's hair, and it felt good to lay like this in his cold, barren room with another person in bed with him. They didn't talk, just appreciated the other's presence, the warmth. Toki felt Skwisgaar still and relax until Toki was almost certain he was asleep. It hurt Toki's heart to move his arm off of Toki's side and roll over, poking Skwisgaar in the stomach and on the nose, waking him.

"You fells asleep," Toki whispered as Skwisgaar blinked his eyes open at him. Skwisgaar had a face made for observation while sleeping. Toki smiled.

"Sorries," Skwisgaar said. He yawned and rolled off the bed, then stretched in the darkness, his shirt riding up. Toki continued to smile as he himself got out of bed and walked Skwisgaar to the window.

"Goodbyes," Toki said.

Skwisgaar nodded and leaned in to kiss Toki, slow and sleepy, a kiss of the soul. He turned when he was about to climb out the window, a hand on the windowsill and the climb ready in his knees. "By de ways," Skwisgaar said, "happys annievarsities."

Toki sucked his top lip between his teeth, happiness bursting inside of him like a flower unfolding in fast motion, a blush spreading to his cheeks. "You's too," Toki said, and he reached forward to wrap his fingers in Skwisgaar's hair and tug. Skwisgaar gave a pained little smile and removed Toki's fingers from his hair, holding his fingers on Toki's wrist and his gaze for longer than necessary before turning back towards the window and exiting Toki's room. Toki shut the window and watched Skwisgaar disappear into the darkness, his smile rolling down into a frown. He was sad to see him go, though overjoyed at Skwisgaar's remembrance of their anniversary. They had reached a conclusion after a lengthy debate over the anniversary issue—celebrate it on the thirty-first during months with thirty-one days and the thirtieth with months that had only thirty, as well as the twenty-eighth (or twenty-ninth, depending) in February. A compromise that satisfied them both.

Toki slept in the next morning, not having to wake up early for school and tired from the previous night. He woke up excited, antsy for the party. It was New Year's Eve and the party was to be held at Charles's house, as it was every year. New Year's Eve parties at Charles's were smaller than the parties he usually threw, more intimate, more of his close friends (and he had a weird amount of close friends) and whoever they bought along. Last year Toki had went and it had been great. He'd spent the majority of it with Murderface, who had not yet met Dick (they were getting their drugs through Seth, a painful process) and had kissed some girl who'd been sort of stalking him all night when the ball dropped. She'd been a decent kisser but had literally wrapped her arms around Toki and refused to let go; Nathan had to pry her from him and pass her off to her friends. Toki had higher hopes for this year's party.

He went about his Thursday chores and his extra Christmas Break chores, ate lunch with his mother as his father was out of town for a week on church business, showered and changed then took up his usual haunt, the porch, waiting for the guys to pick him up. They were going downtown before the party to collect Skwisgaar and kill a couple of hours, walk around and cause ruckus, the usual. Toki laid down on the freshly swept porch steps, one of his legs straight and the other on the ground below, staring up at the sky. It was cloudless and moderate in temperature, neither cold nor hot, comfortable. He closed his eyes, black of the back of his eyelids reddened by the sunlight, and entered a state that was close to sleeping but not quite there. Maybe meditation; Toki rejected all religious bullshit on principle.

The sound of an oncoming vehicle cut into Toki's peace and Toki shot up to his feet. He rubbed his eyes and squinted at Nathan's truck; it looked different, and Toki realized that it had new rims. "Yous truck looks different," Toki said, accent rich from lack of exposure to American culture over the last few days and grammar tricky, as he got in the truck and buckled his seatbelt.

"Parents got me rims for Christmas," Nathan said. He took a hand off the wheel and put it around the back of Pickles's seat as he drove away from Toki's house. Pickles turned around to wave at Toki, lopsided grin on his lips and his eyes rimmed red, before handing him a blunt. Toki took it and smiled as thanks.

"God, you are scho lucky," Murderface said from the backseat. He had his arms crossed over a shirt Toki hadn't seen before, unflattering blue and green stripes. "My grandparentsch juscht bought me schtupid, ugly clothesch."

"They're pretty ugly, yeah," Pickles said. He cracked his knuckles and propped his heels up on Nathan's dashboard. "My parents didn't get me shit. Shocker. They went to Seth's apartment for Christmas, actually." He fished his inhaler out of his pocket and used it, his chest heaving. "Anyway. What 'bout you, Toki?"

"I spends de day in church," Toki said, crinkling his nose. The guys groaned in sympathy for him. "It was okays, though." The guys groaned again, louder this time. They didn't press Toki further about Christmas, for which Toki was glad, as his parents neglected to buy him anything and took the day as a break, leaving Toki to clean the house and make dinner. He couldn't cook and burnt their casserole; his father had lashed him on the back, knowing his son's lack of culinary capability well.

"Well, Christmas is over," Pickles said. He put the inhaler back in his pocket. "We got like a week of no-school, no-family-obligations, no-bullshit, and tomorrow's the first day of 2013. I am going to get so drunk tonight."

"2013," Nathan repeated as he spun the truck into a one-handed turn that made Toki sort of nervous, "is such a fucking brutal year. I wish I was graduating this year so that would be, like, on my diploma, or something."

"Like you'll graduate," Murderface said. He snorted into his hands. Pickles gave him a death glare over his shoulder; Murderface took his hands from his mouth and held them up his. "You were all thinking it!"

"I have faith in Nathan," Pickles said, voice cross. He paused for a second and then laughed. "Sorry, sorry, douchebag, but that almost rhymed. Faith. Nath. Aw, man, talk about irony."

"I actually do not know what irony means," Nathan muttered. Murderface and Toki looked at each other and burst out laughing while Pickles patted Nathan on the shoulder and told him that was okay before taking a half-empty bottle of booze from the glove box.

Pickles drank the remainder of the ride to Skwisgaar's apartment. Toki looked out the window as he usually did, thinking about how great it would be if he could have a pet cat and what he would name it, while taking long, pensive drags on the joint, blowing the smoke against the glass and letting it rebound into his eyes. Murderface and Nathan carried on a conversation about some chick in their history class's tits, debating whether or not they were that great, Nathan speaking from literal first-hand experience and Murderface exploding into envy by the end. Toki decided that, if he were to come into possession of a cat, he would name it Mr. (or Ms.) Fluffy.

Nathan parked on the curb outside of Skwisgaar's apartment complex and Toki called him, telling him to come down. Mark was yelling at somebody in the background about leaving their clothes on the bathroom floor; Skwisgaar told Toki he'd be there in a few seconds through his laughter. Toki counted the seconds until Skwisgaar appeared—one hundred and twelve—and as Toki slid into the middle to let Skwisgaar get in beside him, he stuck the joint between Skwisgaar's lips and said, "Liars, yous down in a hundred and twelve seconds." Skwisgaar shrugged and tipped the joint in his mouth.

"Did I say he could smoke my weed?" Pickles asked, now glaring over his shoulder at Skwisgaar and Toki. Toki froze. Pickles held their gaze for a few seconds before he started guffawing. "Just kiddin'." Toki exhaled while Skwisgaar inhaled.

"This ams de best qualities I has ever had," Skwisgaar said. He took the joint from his mouth and held it between his fingers, looking at it in disbelief. "It ams redefinitions mines idea of de drug."

"It's whats which Pickle's brother sells," Toki said. He dropped his head onto Skwisgaar's shoulder, ignoring Murderface's noise of disgust as he jammed himself against the door and as far away from Skwisgaar and Toki as he could manage. "Best in de city. Very expensive, but he gets it for free."

"That means he steals it," Nathan said.

Skwisgaar nodded and held the joint to Toki's mouth, giving him a drag before taking one for himself. He leaned his head back and blew the smoke out slowly. In the December daylight it looked beautiful, Toki thought, his eyes tracking it until it disappeared. He balled the hem of Skwisgaar's shirt into his fist as he moved his body as close to him as it would allow, squeezing his eyes shut. He felt light; he felt right.

Nathan drove them to the biggest park in their city, one that sprawled over three blocks downtown and had huge trees with thick trunks and roots that bled into the sidewalks, which themselves twisted around in a complicated map. They passed abstract art sculptures scattered throughout that Toki didn't get but Pickles did—particularly when he was stoned—and waxed poetic about as they walked through the curving pathways in the park, towards a cluster of trees. Skwisgaar walked close enough to Toki that their sides bumped, sharing personal little smiles with Toki as Pickles rambled on about the meaning of life in a sculpture that looked like nothing more than a large white oval: "Eggs, man, the chicken and the egg, we come from eggs, eggs, life. Eggs. Life." They fell to the ground in the center of the cluster of trees, ducking underneath branches and sucking their stomachs in to access it. Pickles sat against the trunk of a tree, Nathan stretching on his back in the grass and Toki laying on his stomach, Skwisgaar Indian-style beside him. They looked at Murderface, who was standing with one foot propped up against a tree and his hands behind his back.

"I am not getting grassch schtains on thesche jeansch. They're new," Murderface said. The jeans in question bagged around his calves but clung to his thighs in an unflattering light wash.

"You shoulds stain dem," Toki said. He rolled onto his stomach and reached for the hem of Skwisgaar's shirt, pulling him closer to him. "Dey uglies."

"Hey!" Murderface started his sputtering, spit flying from his mouth in every direction as he shook his head.

"Dude," Pickles said. He pulled a baggie of shrooms from his pocket and placed one on his tongue, talking to Murderface but not looking at Murderface. "Calm down. Want some?" He looked in Nathan's direction; Nathan shook his head.

"Gives to me," Skwisgaar said, extending an arm towards Pickles. Pickles threw him one; Skwisgaar caught it in his mouth, chewed and swallowed. Toki beamed at him from the ground, swelling with pride.

"Toki?" Pickles shook the bag in Toki's direction. Toki shook his head and let his hand travel up Skwisgaar's torso, tugging on Skwisgaar's shirt to pull his face down towards his. Skwisgaar's eyebrows shot up and Toki stretched his neck to kiss him, probing around his teeth for the taste of the mushroom.

"Grossch," Murderface said. Toki broke from Skwisgaar and stuck his tongue out at Murderface, damp and dripping with the saliva of two separate people. Murderface gagged.

They bullshitted around in the park for a few hours, congregating in the center of the circle of trees and playing music on their phones, getting high and drunk safe from the public eye. Skwisgaar laid down on his back beside Toki around the same time Pickles stretched out on his stomach beside Nathan. Murderface remained standing the entire time, to the point that he bitched about how much his new combat boots were hurting his feet. Toki laid his head on Skwisgaar's chest and Skwisgaar allowed it, playing with Toki's hair while Toki ripped up grass and sent into the air as if it were confetti. They tuned the other guys out, sharing more of those secret little smiles and making eyes at each other, the edges of the world blurred by a pleasant mix of illegal substances. They remembered where they were only when the sun began to sink, blades of orange light cutting between the trees and reminding them that it was New Year's Eve, that they had places to be. Toki and Skwisgaar were slow to rise, unsteady and holding onto each other's shoulders and forearms; Toki fell into Skwisgaar, his forehead hitting Skwisgaar's chin, and Skwisgaar bleated with amusement before steadying Toki with hands around his elbows.

"Gotta pissch," Murderface said. He turned around to face a tree and unzipped his jeans; Skwisgaar curled his lip, Toki his nose, pausing in their stumbling.

"Ugh," Nathan said. He threw the bottle of liquor that Pickles had gotten from the glove box earlier behind him in the direction of Murderface; it broke against Murderface's back.

"Hey!" Murderface whipped around, audibly pissing against the tree. "Douchebag!"

Nathan shrugged and walked past Skwisgaar and Toki, shoving between them. Pickles followed, face drawn into an expression of glee and a hand on Nathan's back, and Skwisgaar and Toki closed the gap between them. Murderface ran to catch up. They walked out of the park, much more populated than when they had come in, the temperature plummeting alongside the sun. Toki grabbed Skwisgaar's hand around the wrist and waited for Skwisgaar to entwine their fingers; he did, without so much a look at Toki, and Toki's pulse quickened. Toki had plans for the party, plans for the hours ahead that relied on Skwisgaar's cooperation and how good of a person he could prove himself to be.

Skwisgaar sat in the middle in Nathan's truck this time. Toki slung his legs over Skwisgaar's knees, his feet hitting the back of Pickles's seat at an angle, and when Murderface complained about Skwisgaar and Toki's gayness Toki kicked him in the knees. Murderface fixed his face into a scowl and left it there.

"Didn't yous mom tells you not to makes de faces because yous face gets stuck?" Skwisgaar asked Murderface, teasing, or at least Toki knew Skwisgaar was teasing, could hear it in his voice.

"At leascht my mom waschn't a whore," Murderface said, not teasing, harshness in his voice apparent to everybody. An air of awkwardness settled in the truck.

"Wells," Skwisgaar said. He cleared his throat. "Lookingks at you, I ams sure dat yous mom ams hideoyus."

"My mom isch dead, you asschole," Murderface said, deadpan. He crossed his arms tight over his chest, hatred painted over every feature of his face, eyes dark. Toki felt nerves creeping in through his high. Skwisgaar had his jaw set tight, probably grinding his teeth to the point of pain, and Toki lifted to feather his fingers along Skwisgaar's jawline, then over his lips, up to his eyes, pulling the eyelids down. Calm down, he was trying to say.

Nobody had the balls to follow up that conversation. Toki continued to drag his fingers along Skwisgaar's body, in every place appropriate for a public viewing and then some, the same message in his touch. It was not entirely unselfish; Toki needed Skwisgaar to be at least neutral, at least lukewarm, not angry, not icy. He needed Skwisgaar, if not jovial, at least peaceful. He needed him prepared for that night. Skwisgaar didn't stop Toki but didn't encourage him, just sat in the middle of Nathan's truck with his arms crossed and knees apart, firm in his posture. Murderface fumed more obviously, muttering under his breath and tapping his feet, crossing and uncrossing his arms.

The silence persisted as they pulled into Charles's driveway. Toki let himself fall behind Skwisgaar and put a hand on Pickles's shoulder to pull him behind Nathan and Murderface. Walking separate from the group, Toki looked at Pickles and bit his lip.

"Pickle," Toki said, and he chewed his lip some more. Pickles rolled his eyes and slowed their pace, letting the gap between them and the rest of their friends grow. "You likes Skwisgaar, right?"

Pickles nodded. "I thought we talked about this, like, two months ago, Toki," he said.

"Wells," Toki said. "I like Skwisgaar." Pickles rubbed his forehead and slouched, exasperated. "And I wants de others to likes him too! I just wants us all to be happies." He whispered the last word and frowned.

"Look, it's Murderface, you know how he is," Pickles said. He straightened up and clapped Toki on the back. "Give it a few minutes and he'll be talkin' again. We like Skwisgaar just fine, alright? Don't worry, geeze, you're high, you should be, y'know, high." He took his hands from Toki's back and took another joint from his pocket, gave it to Toki, and lit it for him. "Maybe it's wearin' off. Here you go, buddy."

"Thanks, Pickle," Toki said. He smiled and brought the joint to his lips, sucked some in and held it longer than he usually did. He blew it out with a short cough. "You's da best."

Pickles clapped him on the back again. They sped up to join the rest of the group as Nathan opened the door, holding it open for Pickles and walking off when it was Murderface's turn to enter. Murderface grumbled and swung the door open wide with the fatty expanse of his forearm. Toki found Skwisgaar at his side, Skwisgaar slipping a hand inside Toki's back pocket and arching his eyebrows.

"Whats you talks to Pickle about?" Skwisgaar asked, curious. He hooked the thumb of the hand in Toki's back pocket around one of Toki's belt loops and yanked.

"Oh, you knows," Toki said. He blew air out of his mouth and then brought his joint to his lips, giving him more time to think. He remembered then that he was going to talk to Pickles about what he planned to do tonight; he would find Pickles later, he decided, if he needed to. He exhaled and continued talking. "Just getting some more weed."

"Oh, gives to me." Skwisgaar took the joint from Toki's mouth and sucked on it. "Dat's some good shit," he said when he exhaled, handing it back to Toki.

They walked through Charles's living room and towards the kitchen, where everybody else was. It was around six thirty and maybe half of those who would be attending the party had arrived. Charles was standing in his kitchen near the stove, the sleeves of his button-up pushed towards his elbows and a tie hanging around his neck. On his side was Abigail, holding a clutch purse and smiling with ease. She was pretty, Toki thought, but he hadn't forgiven her for the rift that she had drove between Nathan and Pickles. It had been almost three months and they still weren't back to normal. Pickles sat on a countertop, as he was prone to doing, holding an opened bottle of wine between his knees, while Nathan drifted near him. He seemed to be in a conversation with Charles that had just lapsed. There were other people in the kitchen that Toki recognized but didn't know, hanging around with drinks in their hands and holding their own conversations.

"I was just saying, ah," Charles said. He cleared his throat and adjusted the tie around his neck; Abigail looked at him and her hands twitched. "That Abigail and I—we're in a relationship. We're dating. And we have been for, ah, quite some time." He didn't make eye contact with Nathan nor Pickles as he said that, but with his nails, examining them.

Skwisgaar looked at Toki and propped an eyebrow. "It ams complicated," Toki whispered, then whipped his head to watch whatever drama unfold, crossing his fingers behind his back that there would be none.

"Oh," Nathan said. There was a beat. Pickles swigged from the wine, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Cool." Nathan ripped the wine from Pickles's hand and put it to his own mouth.

"Yeah," Pickles said. "Cool." He looked at Nathan, a conversational pause gestating, then propelled himself from the countertop and slung his arms around Nathan's neck, his legs around Nathan's side. Nathan leaned back, his arms spreading in the air, the bottle of wine in his left hand. "Isn't this great, Nate? Isn't it just wonderful? Charles and Abigail! Makes perfect sense! I am so sorry, you douchebag, I really am."

"What?" Nathan looked confused and maybe a little scared. He looked down at the top of Pickles's head as Pickles nuzzled his forehead into Nathan's neck. "The fuck are you talking about, Pickles? Why are you saying sorry?"

Pickles leaned back from Nathan and looked at him. "Nevermind," he said, grinning. He reached a hand up and took the wine from Nathan, then climbed down him. He stood in front of Nathan, turned to Charles, and started talking again.

"I has no ideas whats just happened." Skwisgaar tugged on Toki's belt loop with his thumb to get his attention. Toki looked at him and shrugged, stood on his tippy-toes to kiss Skwisgaar's nose. Skwisgaar rolled his eyes; Toki laughed and licked at his lips before returning the soles of his feet to the ground. Skwisgaar pocketed the joint Toki had given him and wrapped his hands around Toki's hips, pulled him closer, pressed his lips to Toki's forehead without kissing it. Toki closed his eyes and smiled.

"Everybody'sch happy but me," Murderface said from somewhere behind Toki. Toki pulled out from Skwisgaar's grasp and looked around to see him leaning in the doorway, arms and legs crossed, head down. Toki wanted to frown, wanted to sympathize, but found himself unable to.

"I's sorry," Toki said, though he didn't mean it. He looked at Murderface for a few seconds, frowning because of his inability to sympathize, before he lost interest. One of Skwisgaar's hands traveled from Toki's hip and to the small of his back, forcing his body towards the main conversation in the kitchen.

Abigail had stopped fidgeting with her purse and her hands and had placed it on the counter behind her. She stood with her shoulder pressed into Charles's upper arm and her elbows pushed behind her. Charles was speaking; he had his hands neat beside his hips, good posture to the point of discomfort, classic Charles.

"Magnus ah. Mentioned you, Nathan," Charles said. He tugged at his tie again, angling his head so the light hitting his glasses hid his eyes.

"What'd he say?" Pickles asked, pulling the wine from his mouth and squinting, his expression switching from content to contempt in an almost comical amount of time. "Why were you talkin' to Magnus, Charles?"

"I ran into him the other day at work," Charles said. "He—"

"Wait. What was he doing at your dad's office?" That was Nathan, whose expression of fright and confusion had only magnified at the mention of Magnus.

Charles grew more uncomfortable, fidgeting with his hands and his tie again. Abigail rolled her eyes and leaned over to adjust his tie for him while Charles closed his eyes and tilted his head. Skwisgaar looked at Toki, confused, and Toki raised a finger to his lips. Toki wanted to hear about Magnus, too, even if he shared in Pickles's paranoia and Nathan's confusion and fright. The atmosphere in the room grew heavy, collecting the negative emotions and hanging them above their heads. The atmosphere silenced and pushed everybody in the kitchen out that hadn't had contact with Magnus before, Skwisgaar remaining because of Toki.

"He was considering suing you," Charles said, opening his eyes. Abigail pulled back from him and crossed her arms over her chest. "I told him the case couldn't stand in the court since the charges were dropped and the official police report says that, well, it didn't happen."

"Oh," Nathan said. Pickles's mouth was occupied with sucking wine out of the bottle. "Okay. That's. That's not too bad."

"I told you not to bring it up," Abigail said. She and Charles exchanged a glance, doing that thing that couples do where they hold a conversation without words, and Toki felt gleeful at his newfound ability to identify things like that. He opened his mouth to say something—he wasn't really sure what—but Skwisgaar cut him off, leaning down to talk into Toki's ear.

"De fucks just happens?" Skwisgaar asked. His voice made Toki's ear vibrate.

"Comes with me, I's explain," Toki said. He reached for Skwisgaar's hand and held it, led him away from the kitchen. Toki took Skwisgaar upstairs, leading him through the complicated layout of Charles's house and past fellow partygoers, into one of Charles's guest bedrooms, a spacious room with a queen-sized bed covered in an off-white quilt. Toki sat on the bed, bringing Skwisgaar beside him, and folded his hands in his lap. The light in the guest room was on, soft and considerate, the window framed by heavy curtains and showing off the starless night sky and Charles's well-manicured backyard. Toki looked out at Charles's grounds, past the landscaping and into the blackness, something heavy settling in his chest.

"Wells?" Skwisgaar asked.

Toki sighed, a long and hard sigh, blowing his hair away with his mouth. He fell backwards onto the bed. Skwisgaar did not follow, only turned his torso so he could see Toki as Toki began to talk. "Nathan and Magnus were real good pals freshmen year," Toki said. He closed his eyes, the light bothering them. "Magnus was in de twelfths grade. Me and Moidaface didn'ts likes him. I thoughts he was kinda creepy, as least tos me." He rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hands. The light was really bothering them. "He was Nathan and Pickle's friend, like how Charles ams now."

"Okays," Skwisgaar said, drawing the word out. "This amns't explainginks nothingks, Toki."

"I's getting there!" Toki took his hands from his eyes, letting them open so he could glare at Skwisgaar. "Anyways, Magnus was botherings me and Pickle one day after school at Nathan's house and he and Nathan gots into a real big fights." He let his hands rest on his stomach and sighed, squeezing his eyes shut. Fucking light. "Nathan punched him in de eye and now Magnus ams blind in dat eyeball."

Toki heard the mattress shift and felt Skwisgaar's weight fall beside him, then felt Skwisgaar's hand on Toki's own. "Heavies," Skwisgaar said. "Brutals, though."

Toki laughed. "You ams talkingks like Nathan," he said. He opened his eyes and rolled his head to face Skwisgaar. Skwisgaar reached over and tucked Toki's hair behind Toki's ear, which made him feel like a girl, but he was too drugged to protest.

Skwisgaar shrugged, or did the best he could to replicate a shrug while laying down. "I picks it up," he said. "You says Magnus ams was creepy, why?"

Toki closed his eyes again. The light in the room was seriously bothering him for some reason, probably due to how high he was. He couldn't find the words to say while Magnus was creepy and settled for, "The way he looked at me and de others. Spookies. I never likes him. I's glad he gones."

Skwisgaar pried Toki's eyelids open; Toki tried to blink and failed, his irises darting around. Skwisgaar leaned in close to his face and stared into Toki's eyes, unnerving Toki any further, the edges of Skwisgaar's visage blurred and buzzing. "Me too, den," Skwisgaar said, and he let Toki's eyelids drop as he put his mouth onto Toki's.

Toki felt jittery, like something was off, but he kissed Skwisgaar anyway. They swung their legs up onto the bed and made out on top of the quilt, Skwisgaar on his back and Toki crouching over him, their mouths working against each other's and hands traveling the lengths of their bodies, a pretty standard make-out session. Toki was aware of his corporeal senses, skin in his hands and the mattress supporting him, but he was very much somewhere else in the spiritual sense, something nasty curling inside of him, dark thoughts, dark intentions, darkness. Toki held his hands onto Skwisgaar's hips as Skwisgaar moved his lips down Toki's jawline and craned up to suck behind his ear; Toki readjusted himself so he was more or less straddling Skwisgaar's lap; Skwisgaar pushed his hands up from Toki's ass to just underneath his shirt, his thumbs rolling up while his palms moved to the taut stretch of muscle on both sides that dipped inwards. Toki jumped back onto the balls of his feet.

Skwisgaar didn't bother feigning or forcing understanding at this point; he crossed his arms and kicked his head back, set his lips tight and stared at Toki. Toki started chewing on the bottom of his lip and wringing his hands, feeling like he might puke, nastiness inside of him lurching. "What de fucks ams wrongs with yous?" Skwisgaar asked, snarling.

"Just—" Toki was going to spill. Exactly what, he didn't know, but something was going to spill. Everything was going wrong, now, and his skin felt hot. He could feel his blood rushing, working beneath his skin, loud as the ocean in his ears. He dug his teeth into his bottom lip until he tasted blood, squeezed his hands hard enough it hurt.

"I's likes yous body, I'ds likes to sees it," Skwisgaar continued. He was sneering, his posture unwelcoming, and it was stressing Toki out even further. The light overheard was too bright, too garish, and this was probably the worst high Toki had had in a while. "I's waited and I's beens understandingks—"

"I knows you had," Toki said. He stopped biting his bottom lip, stopped wringing his hands, felt tears begin to form, saw them collect in his eyelashes. He blinked them away the best he could, sniffled. Goosebumps rose on his arms, a chill starting across his shoulders and spreading throughout his body, and still he could hear his blood and see that fucking light.

"Ams you havingks a bad trip?" Skwisgaar asked, cocking his head and peering at Toki. Toki heard the different parts to Skwisgaar's voice, criticism and caring both, maybe, but his brain was not capable of processing it at the moment. Toki nodded.

"Dat's not all," Toki said. He stopped trying to fight the tears, let them flow. It wasn't the first time he'd cried in front of Skwisgaar—Toki was a crier, especially when stoned, and Skwisgaar usually mocked him for it or acted disgusted, but now he was just looking at Toki with this half-confused, half-critical, half-caring face that only made Toki want to cut his wrists and bleed out on the floor in front of him—but it was important. This was important. "Just—looks!" Toki said, and in one motion he crisscrossed his arms and ripped his shirt off, turned to show Skwisgaar his back.

It was quiet. The world seemed to stop, the nerves that had been fizzling in Toki's body calmed for the moment being. He didn't know if he was coming down from the high or what, but he was scared, he was biting his lip and tasting the blood and seeing light and crying, his body racked. Toki trembled and swallowed bile three times before Skwisgaar did anything. He heard weight shift, a mattress groan, the soft rustling of fabric moving, and it was all magnified to him, until he felt a light touch on his back, just the pad of fingertips, tracing over the network of scars.

Skwisgaar didn't say anything for a long time after that, only followed Toki's scars up and down and all around with this feathery touch. Toki stopped trembling, stopped crying, stopped spilling, but he was still on edge, still coming down from this bad trip, feeling both physical and mental exhaustion. The room, though large, now felt quite small, a vessel disconnected and floating through space, the darkness outside seeming unending and whole. Alone with Skwisgaar, alone with the scars, alone with them both, in this softly lit room with infinity waiting outside. Skwisgaar stood and wrapped his arms around Toki's neck, light as his fingertips on his back, and lowered his head to Toki's shoulder, let it rest there. Toki didn't move.

Skwisgaar spoke after holding Toki like that for a few minutes, their breathing synched. "Who does that to you," he said. His voice was tense but soft, his lips moving against the bare skin of Toki's shoulder. He sounded like he already knew the answer.

Toki swallowed back the lump in his throat, told himself not to cry again, and raised a hand to run over Skwisgaar's wrist. He didn't answer his question. "I's sorry," he said, instead.

Skwisgaar pulled back from Toki. Toki turned to face him. Skwisgaar's face was impassive in only the way Skwisgaar could make it, and had Toki had the strength, it probably would've frustrated him. "What ams you sorry for?" Skwisgaar asked. He narrowed his eyes at Toki, crossed his arms, stuck a hip to the side.

"I's ugly," Toki said. He cast his eyes down, sighed. Shame. "If you doesn't want me—"

"You ams such a babies," Skwisgaar said. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, grimaced. "Dat's not what I means. I doesn't care. I asks you, who does dat?"

"Why's you want to know?" Toki wanted to mirror Skwisgaar's stance, stick out a hip and cross his arms, take his position and ground. He told his muscles to do that but his muscles didn't listen to him. They preferred to go lax and limp, making Toki feel more like a rag doll than a human being.

"So I can kills dem, obvskilee," Skwisgaar said.

Toki closed his eyes. It was the only thing he could make his body do. He felt the bad high, the bad emotions, the nastiness, all draining from him, and it made him so tired, so goddamn tired, he wanted to get under that quilt and fall asleep until the next year, literally. "You can'ts kill dem," he said.

"Why's not?"

"You can'ts tell dis to anybody," Toki said. He opened his eyes, looked at Skwisgaar, and paused. This had been his plan. He had wanted to tell Skwisgaar this tonight, he reminded himself. You can do this, he told himself, you are strong enough. Skwisgaar deserves to know; you love Skwisgaar, you do, he understands you better than any of those other guys, he'll understand. He doesn't care about your scars. He cares about you. He told himself these things, and he believed them, he did, but his brain and his body were working on two different levels.

"I wouldn'ts," Skwisgaar said. He started tapping his foot, kept his arms cross, hip jutted. Toki opened his mouth and couldn't make the words come out, still. "Wells?" Skwisgaar asked. He rolled his eyes and then rolled them back down, looked at Toki. "Comes on, Toki," he said. He looked at his wrist like he expected a watch to be there, though Toki had never seen Skwisgaar wear one. Skwisgaar sighed, relaxed his posture, put his hands on Toki's arm and established eye contact, softened his face. "I loves you, ja?"

A pause. Then, "My parents." Toki closed his eyes. Too many things were happening, just too much stuff, and he let himself fall into Skwisgaar, let him hold him. Skwisgaar's hold was loose, tentative, his back rigid, and Toki couldn't see his face again, couldn't judge his emotions. He didn't need to. Into Skwisgaar's chest he said, quiet but loud enough for Skwisgaar to hear, "I loves you too, by de way." He let himself smile, which felt strange in wake of what had just happened, foreign and unfamiliar.

"You's parents?" Skwisgaar said, ignoring Toki's words against his chest. He leaned back, still holding Toki at the forearms, and looked at him. "You's parents does this?"

Toki nodded. "I just says dat," he said.

Skwisgaar made a noise somewhere between a groan and a growl. "I still kills dem, ja?" He said. "What type of parents does dis to dere kid? And I thoughts my moms was bad. Odin."

"It ams—my dad, he ams religious, my moms ams too, they says I ams unholy and unworthy and all dese other things. It ams always been like this." Toki frowned, furrowed his brow. "I doesn't likes it, obviouslies, but I can't changes it."

Skwisgaar stopped holding Toki's arm, walked around the room a few times and then sat on the bed, put his forehead in his hands. He kept repeating the names of Norse gods under his breath, going through the entire line-up, uttering them like they were the vilest of curses. Toki stood in the middle of the room, feeling calm and centered and too tired for anything else. Skwisgaar raised his head and shut his eyes, spoke Toki's name, called him to his side. Toki sat down next to him and Skwisgaar took his hand, held it between them.

"Fucks yous parents," Skwisgaar said, as if he had come to some sort of profound conclusion. He looked not at Toki but at their interlocked hands. "Fucks dem, ja? I's here for yous."

"I doesn't want to talk about dem," Toki said. "I really, really doesn't."

"What does you want, den?" Skwisgaar looked at Toki now, stroked his cheek, his thumb running the length of a tearstain. Toki's face was swollen and tender to the touch but he leaned into Skwisgaar's hand regardless.

"To sleeps," Toki said. He closed his eyes, sighed, put a hand on Skwisgaar's hand on his face to still it. "What times ams it?"

It took a few seconds for Skwisgaar to pull his phone from his pocket and check the time. Toki listened to the movement. "It ams around eight thirties," Skwisgaar said.

"Okays." Toki let himself fall backwards onto the bed once more. Fuck emotions; they were hard, exhausting work. He rolled over onto his side and curled into a fetal position. "Wakes me up for de ball dropping. Goes has fun at de parties." He fell asleep before Skwisgaar could respond.

He woke up to find himself tucked underneath the quilt, his head on the pillow, his body positioned in the bed as it should be. His shirt was folded on the nightstand next to the lamp, the only light in the room. He expected to see Skwisgaar somewhere in the room, maybe leaning against the window and smoking, but instead he saw Pickles sitting on the floor beside the bed, reading a book by lamplight.

"G'morning, Sleepin' Beauty," Pickles said. He shut the book and put it on the nightstand as he stood up; Frankenstein. He grabbed a bottle of liquor Toki had failed to notice sitting on the bedside table and drank from it.

"What times ams it?" Toki asked. He sat up in bed and pressed his back against the headboard, shielding the scars from Pickles's eyes, keeping his bruised arms beneath the blanket. "Where's Skwisgaar?"

"He's hangin' out downstairs," Pickles said. "Nathan took a likin' to him. When I left, he was playin' quarters with 'em and Abigail and tryin' to get Charles to join in." He chuckled. "It's like eleven-thirty, dude, I was put on Toki watch."

"Ohs," Toki said. "Can you gives to me my shirt?" Pickles handed it to him. Toki unfolded it and put it back on, rolling the sleeves down over his arms. "Okays."

"Skwisgaar said you had a bad trip," Pickles said. "That sucks, dude. We normally don't get that from Seth's stuff, y'know?" He thrust the bottle towards Toki not to offer it but as a comforting gesture.

"Yeah," Toki said, nodding.

"Well, we better get downstairs, then." Pickles left the room without waiting for Toki, brandishing the bottle. Toki rolled out of the bed and left it as it was, the quilt twisted and clearly slept in. As he walked he rubbed his eyes and readjusted his hair, trying to rouse his body from sleep. He hadn't dreamed and was feeling pretty sober (which he intended to change soon) but also refreshed.

From the top of the stairs he could see that the party had reached its high point, people milling around and walking in and out of rooms. He descended the stairs, yawning, and stumbled through the maze that constituted Charles's mansion of a house until he found Skwisgaar. Skwisgaar was still playing quarters in Charles's den, positioned to toss as Toki flocked to his side, Nathan, Murderface and Pickles standing around the coffee table that had the cups on it. Skwisgaar missed and shrugged, picking up a bottle of beer near him on the table and drinking out of it before acknowledging Toki.

"Wells, wells, wells," he said, as he put an arm around Toki and passed him the bottle he was drinking out of. Toki declined and looked towards Pickles, who nodded at him and fished a joint from his pocket for Toki. "It ams de sleepyheads."

"Oh, fucks you," Toki said, around a yawn. "Gives to me de quarters." Skwisgaar gave him the quarter and he took it with the hand not holding the joint, shooting it neatly into a cup. "You's drunk enough," he said to Skwisgaar, and then to Pickles, "you drink, Pickle."

"Happily." Pickles took a swig from the bottle that had been on Toki's nightstand. Toki laughed and lifted the joint to his mouth.

They played quarters until Charles came into the room and turned the huge television hanging on the opposite wall to a channel displaying the ball in Times Square. Five minutes to go and Toki was good and stoned, Skwisgaar drunk and swaying, everybody else packing in around them. Nathan and Pickles were in the back of the room, Pickles sitting on Nathan's shoulders and supporting himself with the wall, Nathan tall enough to see over everybody's heads; Charles and Abigail were in the front, both short people, Charles's arm chaste around Abigail's waist. Toki couldn't locate Murderface but he'd gotten a text from Dick, who was somewhere at the party but not with them, just before Charles showed up and bought the general bulk of the party into the den to watch the new year roll in. Skwisgaar and Toki smiled at one another, Toki blowing smoke in Skwisgaar's face and Skwisgaar squeezing his shoulder, and waited for the ball to drop.

They joined in on shouting the countdown, Skwisgaar in Swedish and Toki in Norwegian. When they got to en they paused, looked at each other, then jammed their lips together in the sloppiest kiss Toki had had, period. Toki leaned up and crossed his arms around Skwisgaar's neck, their hair caught between their faces and tangling, Toki arching onto his toes and smiling, smiling so hard it interfered with the kissing, people whooping and hollering around them. That sense of infinity, of being alone in the world, had returned, caught in the space between two years, caught in the space between two boys, euphoria and order returned.

Skwisgaar pulled back first, keeping only a centimeter between their faces. "Happies New Years," he said.

Toki nodded, his forehead knocking into Skwisgaar's, closed his eyes, started to cry, just a little bit, a happy little bit. "Happy New Year," he said, back, and he pulled on Skwisgaar's neck harder, Skwisgaar pulled around Toki's waist harder. It was the New Year, and they were together.


	10. Proper Groupie Slut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this, a consistent update schedule? Yeah! How about that Doomstar, huh? Now all my fluff is completely justified. Should I stop asking questions and answering them? Yes. Thanks to my beta reader, Misty Day, for fixing my horrible typos and generally being a great beta, and thanks to you guys for reading and reviewing and (hopefully) enjoying. Somebody else has drawn fanart for this story, which is arguably better than Christmas for me, and I've linked to it on my profile. I have, like, nothing to say about this chapter, so I'll shut up now.

Going back to school sucked. Not because he was going back to school—Toki was all for ending the two weeks of punishments his parents had inflicted upon him—but because of his diminished free time and thus diminished time with Skwisgaar. Things hadn't changed much since the scars talk except for the part where Toki found himself shirtless with increasing frequency, which he considered a good thing. Skwisgaar liked Toki's muscles, which he knew had existed beforehand but not been exposed to in full, and he had spent lengthy amounts of time just tracing his fingers along them, dipping in the crevices between Toki's abs, and Toki was going to have to stop thinking about that now lest he wanted a boner.

"Dis  _sucks_ ," Toki said. He put his head down on his desk.

"You talk like him all the time now," Murderface said.

"You mentions Skwisgaar and now it ams sucks  _worse_ ," Toki moaned. He groaned and pulled his head back up, eyes lolling around his English classroom. "Chem wasn't too bad but I likes to go home now."

"Oh, schut up, you crybaby," Murderface said. He waved his hand around and leaned back in his desk, propping his boots up on it. It left him at an awkward angle and let the smell of his feet leak into the air. Toki dropped his head to the desk and moaned once more, not even bothering to respond to Murderface's insults. Murderface took Toki's guttural response as a reason to keep talking. "I like school, you know, I love learning, I think it fullfilsch a man."

"Stops trying to impress dem," Toki said into the sleeve of his hoodie. He was referring to the girls that sat in front of them. He knew Murderface was glaring at their backs, talking loud enough so they could hear every word they said. "Dey amns't listenings to us, and if they was, they ams would be grossed out by yous."

"What do you know about girlsch? You're gay."

Toki rolled his head so his cheek was on his arm and he could see Murderface. He kicked his desk, causing Murderface to jostle and his legs to fall off and over the bar on the side. He yowled in pain and Toki laughed as Murderface readjusted himself. "Ams being with another boy doesn't makes me gay," Toki said. He straightened up, his teacher taking the helm of the classroom and the final bell ringing. "And besides, I thinks I knows more about goils den you, Moidaface."

Murderface glared at Toki and opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by their teacher, launching into a lesson about symbolism in the short story Toki had reread four times over the break for lack of better things to do. Toki and Murderface scribbled notes back and forth to each other while their teacher droned on about sunrises and sunsets, a motif of the color red. It started with Murderface passing a note, sloppy handwriting asking if Toki wanted to go skating after school today; Toki said yes and doodled a little man on a skateboard beneath his answer; Murderface stabbed the man in the head with an intricate drawing of a knife; Toki turned it into a hat; so on and so forth, a friendly back-and-forth that covered the entire page by the time they were done, little comments like  _this bitch needs to shut up_ and  _why does school even exist_ in the margins.

Toki went through the motions of school. 3D Art; Algebra II; lunch; German; World History; Home Ec. First semester exams were in a week, Toki ineligible for exemption due to insufficient grades and apathy, his classes stuck in premature review. He worked on a sculpture representing the emotion  _mirth_ in 3D Art that would substitute his examination grade, played with Pickles's dreads while he slept through a lesson in Algebra II, translated a poem in German, passed notes between the guys in World History while they were supposed to be learning about religions, made scrambled eggs in Home Ec. An average, boring Monday. He was itching to get the fuck out by the time the final bell rang, darting through the hallways and courtyards until he reached Murderface's locker. Murderface was already there, pulling the shitty skateboard out and handing it to Toki, his phone pressed against the side of his head.

Murderface carried on a conversation with Dick for a few minutes then hung up and slid the phone in his pocket. Toki tapped his fingers against the face of the board, thought about lying in bed with Skwisgaar last night, talking about music, Skwisgaar smelling of ash and sweat from practice, biting a callus on his thumb as Toki sucked his way down his body. Murderface and Toki were outside the school, on the way to the skate park, the air crisp and Toki had come up with an idea. He looked at Murderface, decided that he didn't seem to be in  _too_ foul of a mood, and announced, "I'ms gonna calls Skwisgaar and asks him to come to de skate park."

Murderface sighed. "Toki, Toki, Toki," he said, adopting an air of wisdom. He made clucking noises with his tongue, shook his head. "Don't you think you guysch schpend too much time together?"

"We's not togethers nearlies as much as yous and Dicks am," Toki pointed out, using one hand to literally point. Murderface blanched and shut up; Toki smiled, smug, and fished his phone from his pocket.

Skwisgaar picked up on the second ring. "Amns't yous supposeds to be in school?" he asked. Toki could hear the sounds of people eating over the phone, which made sense, as it was two in the afternoon, a good time to eat lunch.

"Just gets out," Toki chirped, mood heightened already. "Goingks to de skate park on thirty-third wit Moidaface. Yous should comes!"

"Ja, ja, I knows where dats ams, I cans does dat," Skwisgaar said. Toki imagined him waving his hand around, swatting at imaginary things in the air, and smiled. "I sees yous there." Toki nodded, though Skwisgaar couldn't see him, and hung up the phone.

"God, you're  _scho_ gay," Murderface said, watching as Toki put his phone in his pocket. Toki shrugged and smiled, not even caring about whatever came out of Murderface's mouth. "Do you have to be scho gay in public? It'sch offenschive to old ladiesch and babiesch."

"Moidaface," Toki said, more amused than anything else, "nothings about dat conversation was dat gays. I can gets  _reallies_ gay if you'd likes, doe."

"Pleasche don't."

Toki took that as incentive to, indeed, get really gay. "You's never kisses anybody, Moidaface," he began, making these elaborate hand gestures as if he was telling a grand story. "Much lessons gets yous dicks touched. But I has. By a  _man_." It felt weird to call Skwisgaar a man, though he was certainly more man than boy. The noise of disgust followed by gagging that it elicited from Murderface was beautiful. Toki laughed so hard he cried.

Murderface collected himself as they stood outside of the skatepark, one hand clawing the chain-link fence. Toki had one foot in the gate, waiting for Murderface, who dry-heaved with his other hand clutching his stomach, until he looked up and at Toki. "If you're gonna bring Schkwischgaar," Murderface panted. He choked before he said the next sentence, body lurching. "I'm gonna call Dick."

Toki shrugged. "Doesn't care," he said. He ran his fingers over the skateboard, itching to actually get in and ride. He hadn't in so long, his free time occupied by Skwisgaar, and he missed it so much. "De more de marrieders."

 _Married_ sit Murderface into another fit of gagging before he collapsed to the ground, his hand slipping down the chain-link fence. Toki waited for him to say something and walked off when he got no response, placing the skateboard on the ground and propelling himself forward with it.

The air was fresh against his face, cold and sharp in his eyes. It reminded him of the mild Norwegian storms, but here he was without the scent of snow, replaced by simmering asphalt and the smell of teenagers, of stale weed, blood, sweat. He warmed up inside of his clothes, his HUF hoodie and a pair of jeans with holes in the knees, as the sun beat on him without the blockage of a cloudy sky and he started to shed calories. His hair ran out behind him and came around to smack him in the face but he didn't care, not really. He loved it. He took the railing with a flourish, his hand gripping it while his body swung around, the board slamming into the ground. It groaned beneath his weight and Toki knew it was close to cracking but he'd ride it until it died.

He was poised to slide down a bowl, nose of the board in his hand and hair a mangled birds nest framing his head, when he noticed Skwisgaar approaching the park, flanked by the other members of Fuckface Academy. Toki swatted the hair out of his face and grinned, catching Skwisgaar's eye. Skwisgaar raised an eyebrow in response, pursed his lips, and Toki took off towards him. Murderface and Dick joined him on either side, surging forward from some back corner of the park where Dick was probably doing coke and Murderface scratching his initials into a nearby tree with the pocket knife he kept on his person. Toki wanted to roll his eyes.

"Heys," Skwisgaar said, bemusement thick in his voice and his face. His eyes flicked between the skateboard in Toki's hand and Toki himself.

"Heys," Toki said. "I's justs skatings." He wiped sweat from his forehead and blew air from his mouth. He opened his mouth to say something—what, he didn't know—but he was cut off by Dick, who had his sunglasses on top of his head and pushing his hair back in a most unattractive manner.

"The band's all here!" Dick said. He jammed his hands towards Mark, opposite him on Skwisgaar's right side and Toki's left. Mark took it and shook it, tilted his head at Dick. "I'm Dick Knubbler, aspiring producer and manager, and I just  _love_ you guys. Skwisgaar, here, especially. If you're looking—"

Mark raised a hand to quiet Dick and turned towards Ritchie, nudging him. Ritchie nodded and they went off to the side, George trailing behind them and looking distressed. Skwisgaar sighed and rolled his eyes. "Dis fuckingks band," he said, and Toki nodded in agreement.

"I am so excited," Dick said. He clapped his hands together, rubbed them up and down. "I am also very high. I am excited and high."

"Highcited," Murderface said, nodding in agreement to a point Dick hadn't made.

Skwisgaar and Toki looked back and forth between Dick and Murderface in unison before looking at each other, sharing a short nod, and taking off. Toki took Skwisgaar's hand with the one that wasn't holding the skateboard and they walked around the perimeter of the skate park, towards a corner in the chain link fence, sitting on the grass. Toki put the skateboard in front of them and they used it as a footrest, rolling it back and forth in a mindless and playful competition of who could get it the farthest in their direction while they talked. They sat shoulder-to-shoulder, looking across the street at a convenience store with caged windows.

"You thinks Marks signs with Dick?" Toki asked. Skwisgaar was rubbing circles with his thumb on the top of Toki's hand, resting on Skwisgaar's knee.

Skwisgaar nodded. "Mark thinks we's much better than whats we ams," Skwisgaar said. "I means, I's good, ja? De other guys, doe, dey am dildos. Huge dildos." He leaned back, resting his head against a pole in the fence, and closed his eyes. Toki leaned over to run a hand down his neck while he talked, feeling the vibrations of his voice through his skin. "It ams whatevers."

"Dick ams kinds of like dat, too," Toki said. He took the hand that had been on Skwisgaar's neck and started to pluck grass from the ground. "Thinkingks he ams better than whats he actuallies ams."

"A perfects matches," Skwisgaar said, cracking his eyes open to look at Toki, and they both laughed. A pause, and then Skwisgaar leaned over to kiss Toki, tucking a strand of Toki's flyaway hair behind his ear. Toki nested his body into Skwisgaar's, took his feet off the skateboard to draw his knees in out of instinct. They began kissing slow and lazy, the wet heat of each other's mouths a contrast to the cool air that made Toki sleepy in a vague way, began working up a rhythm, getting into it. Kissing in the cold was as comfortable as hot chocolate and blankets around a campfire, songs from an acoustic guitar and a shroud of stars in the night sky.

They were interrupted fifteen minutes later by the sound of combat boots crunching grass and the feeling of combat boots nudging them. They separated, Skwisgaar pissed off and pursing his lips and Toki guilty and smiling, to see Ritchie standing in front of him.

"Hey, Skwisgaar," he said, toeing Skwisgaar's shin again. When he retracted his foot he rested it on top of the skateboard, laying forgotten by their feet. "We're, like, signed now. So. Yeah."

"Reallies?" Skwisgaar popped an eyebrow and stood. Toki stood as well, stretching his arms above his head, his back crackling with relief. "Wells, ams not surprisingks."

"Whatever," Ritchie said. He kicked the skateboard out from under his foot, sending it a few feet down across the grass in their opposite direction. "Mark says we have to go and get started on the album, like, right away. This Knubbler guy's gonna come back to the building with us. Mark sent me to get you and he said that, like, the kid isn't allowed to come with." He tossed a thumb in Toki's direction.

"I'll bes dere in a few minutes, okay? Tells Mark dat if he doesn't like dat, he can tries and finds a better lead." Skwisgaar snorted at the thought and turned towards Toki, effectively cutting Ritchie off.

Ritchie's shoulders twitched in what may have been a shrug and he walked off, limbs loose and languid as his speaking style. He reminded Toki of Pickles in the faintest way, like if Pickles and Ritchie were to ever interact they would completely and undeniably hate each other. Toki was going to say something about this to Skwisgaar but found his mouth otherwise occupied before he could do so. Skwisgaar kissed him with both hands on his face, cold skin on cold skin, and Toki couldn't help but giggle.

"We has a show dis weekend," Skwisgaar said as he pulled back from Toki, his forehead pressing into Toki's. "Holidays breaks ams over. I's texts you de address. Brings you's friends, tells dem to brings their friends, too. Now dat we has a producers we ams a little bits more serious."

Toki nodded and bit his lip. He nudged his hips towards Skwisgaar, needy and horny, not willing to part so soon. Skwisgaar rolled his eyes but indulged Toki, bringing him closer to him, moving his head to nip at Toki's ear and move along his jawline and back to his lips. Toki could've sworn he felt Skwisgaar mouth  _I loves you_ against the corner of Toki's, but without vocal confirmation he couldn't be sure. He said it back with words regardless as they separated for the last time that day, Skwisgaar nodding and rubbing Toki's shoulders before walking off.

Toki collected his skateboard from the ground and tucked it under one arm as he made his way back to Murderface, who was sitting on the pavement by the entrance and looking grumpy. Toki kicked him in the shin to get his attention and Murderface grunted in response, Toki laughing. Murderface furrowed his eyebrows at him and flicked him off. Toki stuck his tongue out at him in return.

"Fuckin' Dick," Murderface said as they started walking, hands thrust deep in the pockets of his jeans and kicking the ground. "Goesch off with that gay-assch band and leavesch me no ride home."

"Dey has a show dis weekends," Toki said. "We should goes."

"I'll go for Dick," Murderface said.

"Mes too," Toki said. He laughed to himself, but the pun was lost on Murderface.

The rest of the week drizzled by. Skwisgaar came by twice, once right as Toki was about to go to bed on Wednesday and again on Thursday, waking Toki from his sleep. Both times Skwisgaar had been in a bad mood, laying in Toki's bed with his boots on and talking in a fast voice with accompanying angry hand motions. Toki drew sleepy patterns on the fabric of Skwisgaar's muscle shirts as he ranted about Mark and the rest of the band, openly yawning but making an effort to not fall asleep. Both times Skwisgaar had talked for well into an hour, looked at his phone for some reason and left after a quick apology and kiss to Toki's face. Toki let Skwisgaar let himself out, falling asleep as soon as he was out of bed.

His parents stockpiled chores for him, a punishment for Toki's developing social life. He worked every day after school until sundown, mowing the yard, trimming the trees, tending the garden, planting shrubs, deep-cleaning the house. He stood on the second floor landing and scrubbed the walls, up and down and all around, vague rage boiling inside of him. He bent down and rung the rag out in the pail of water, dipped it in the other one, spreading suds along the stucco. His parents kept the house cold when Toki was home, colder than it was outside but not as cold as it had been in Norway, and he was wearing two shirts under his hoodie, two pairs of socks on his feet. It pissed him off even more and he wasn't quite sure why.

The week closed with teachers in frantic stages of preparation for the semester exams beginning on Monday. Toki didn't really give a fuck about them, nor any of his friends, passing notes and throwing things to each other across the room. They were rambunctious at lunch on Friday, pouring themselves into and over the table as usual.

"Do we  _really_ have to go to the Fuckface Academy show?" Nathan asked. He had a leg propped up on the bench, his arm folded over his knee, shaking an empty can of soda.

"Guys, we have to support Toki's boyfriend," Pickles said, smiling with one side of his mouth. He'd skipped fourth period and gone down the street to smoke with his other friends, his eyes rimmed red. Murderface rolled his eyes and tutted.

"I guess he's kind of, like, our friend now, or whatever," Nathan said. He said with insolence but it nonetheless made Toki smile around the granola bar he was eating. Fucking raisin; his hatred for them hadn't dissipated.

Nathan drove Toki home that day, sending him away with a promise that he'd be there tomorrow evening to pick him up and they'd have a kickass time even if they had to force one. Toki assumed the last part of that comment was meant more for Nathan than for himself and set off to work on his Friday chores before crawling into bed, sleeping with extra layers of clothes because it was so cold in his room and he had only a single blanket, his arms wrapped underneath him. Though he felt some of the same irritable restlessness that had gripped him so strongly before there was something closer to happiness worming itself way into him, a permanent something, and Toki fell asleep with a smile on his face.

Saturday chores and no special punishment and Toki was surprised but not about to question it. He was scrubbing dishes clean, hands encased in thick yellow gloves he'd nicked from his mother's stash and hair tied behind his back, when there was a knock on the door. Toki finished the last of the dishes and put them on the rack, peeled off the gloves and undid his hair, hurrying to open the door. He unearthed Nathan standing between Murderface and Pickles, Pickles with his fingers around the neck of a bottle and Murderface standing with his arms crossed over his chest. Toki smiled at them and told them to wait while he got his shoes and his phone and then they were gone.

Fuckface Academy were playing at a bar two towns over, the place they had listed as their origin on their outdated MySpace page. They had migrated from MySpace to Bandcamp, had an album up for five bucks that they were actually sort of making money on and a small but loyal underground following. Toki didn't think Skwisgaar was as happy about this as he should be but Toki didn't know a lot about how bands worked, only which ones sounded best to his ears. The drive to the bar they were playing at—some placed called  _Verbarhistolysis_ —was long and mostly over the highway, the sun sinking in the horizon, their windows rolled down and loud music combating the rush of the road. Toki kept receiving texts from Skwisgaar, his phone vibrating with paragraph rants half in Swedish about how horrible Mark and Ritchie were both being, how much Skwisgaar wished Toki was there. Toki could barely figure out how to respond  _on my way_.

He did call Skwisgaar when they turned onto the street containing Verbarhistolysis. Skwisgaar picked up immediately, probably in the middle of another paragraph when Toki called. "Ja, Tokis?" he asked, annoyance and expectation clipping his voice.

"We's here," Toki said, because they were, Nathan pulling into the parking lot of the place.

"Thanks God," Skwisgaar muttered. "I's goingks to gets you, holds on, you's coming backstage with me." He hung up before Toki could answer; Toki shrugged at Pickles when he turned around and gave him a strange look. Toki slid his phone back in his pocket and slinked out of the truck, not quite sure if he should wait out there for Skwisgaar or follow the other guys into the bar, where they would get in with their fake IDs and probably start getting drunk as soon as possible. His uncertainty was cut short by the sight of Skwisgaar marching towards him, scowling so hard it looked like it hurt.

Skwisgaar put a hand on Toki's shoulder and turned him away from the rest of the guys, though they exchanged pleasantries and smiles. The hand slid down Toki's side until it found Toki's and their fingers interlocked, Skwisgaar's skin unusually hot. Skwisgaar led Toki around the back and through a door propped open with what looked to be a music stand.

Toki had never been backstage of anything before and he hadn't been expecting anything much. Skwisgaar led him through a small and compacted area until they reached a slightly more spacious one in which Fuckface Academy were crowded around an ashtray. Ritchie was standing with his back against the wall, shirtless as he appeared to be for all of their gigs, hair frizzing and falling down his shoulders so that it brushed the tips of his angel wing tattoos. Mark was sitting on an amp with a bottle of beer in his hands, drinking and holding his jaw tense. The rhythm guitarist—George, Toki was pretty sure his name was—seemed to be the one doing the actual set-up, carrying another amp in both of his arms and disappearing through the curtains and out toward the main stage.

"You brought your boyfriend backstage," Ritchie said, flicking the end of his cigarette so ash fluttered towards the floor.

"Ja, whats of it?" Skwisgaar dropped Toki's hand and pulled a pack of his cigarettes from his own pocket, lit one and brought it to his mouth.

"That's just not a thing that you should, like, do." It took Ritchie ages to get through this sentence, drawing every word out, smoking between punctuation. "Kinda weird Skwisgaar behavior, too." He let the cigarette fall through his fingers and stubbed it out with the toe of his boots in one long maneuver.

"Has I hads a boyfriends before?" Skwisgaar asked. His hand gravitated towards the small of Toki's back where it rested, his fingers moving in circles, subconsciously tracing the length of a scar.

"Guess not," Ritchie said. He folded his arms over his chest. He had that skinny guy abs thing going on, was long and lean in all the wrong places, tall yet unappealing.

"Then doesn't talk shit, ja?" Skwisgaar asked. He sucked on the end of his cigarette and leaned over to deposit it in the ashtray, coming into Mark's line of vision.

Mark startled and looked up. "I have to agree with Ritchie," he said, some sheepishness slipping into his face. "It's just not cool to bring your S.O. backstage. I wouldn't if I had a girlfriend."

"If you could  _get_ a girlfriend," was George's contribution as he passed by them again, this time carrying some wires. Toki caught his eyes and gave him the most appreciative look he could manage.

"Fine, den he cans bes a groupie," Skwisgaar said. He turned to Toki. "You's ours first groupie, conscratchuleasons." He patted Toki on the shoulder and leaned in like he was going to kiss him but decided against it.

"Go do groupie shit, then," Ritchie said. "Help George out." He tossed a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the depths of the bar though George had just gone through the curtains again.

Toki started to walk in the direction that Ritchie gestured before Skwisgaar stopped him, his hand tightening around Toki's forearm, and pulled him back. "Fucks dat, you's a groupie, not a roadie," Skwisgaar said. "Show's in fifteen minutes, sees you guys den." Still with Toki's hand on his forearm he turned around, walking in the opposite direction.

"Uh, Skwisgaar?" Toki asked as they went through a door and into a small storage room with only a few overstuffed boxes in a corner and a naked light hanging above them that Skwisgaar turned on. "De fucks ams goin' on with yous band?"

Skwisgaar waved his hand. "Ignores dat," he said. He snaked a finger from each hand into Toki's belt loops, tugging him forward by the hips and connecting their mouths. Toki shed his hoodie—it was hot backstage anyway—and Skwisgaar pushed a hand up underneath Toki's shirt, up to his collarbones, circling the protruding muscles. Toki curled his hands up in Skwisgaar's hair and had to stop himself from lunging at him—even five days of none of this was too much, too long. He ended up on his knees, Skwisgaar's back pressed into a wall, rolling Skwisgaar's jeans down and taking his dick in his mouth like a proper groupie slut would. Skwisgaar came in minutes, one of his hands tangled in Toki's hair and the other gripping his shoulder, and Toki smiled up from his position on the ground, happy to please.

"Can'ts does you," Skwisgaar said, buttoning his jeans as Toki came up. "Gots a show."

"Bes late," Toki said, clawing at Skwisgaar's chest, much too horny to go without. "Comes on, yous de best, dey has no options but to accommodate yous."

Skwisgaar was silent for a moment, eyes fixed over Toki's head, and then he shrugged his shoulders almost violently. "Ja, makes sense," he said, surging forward and slamming his mouth into Toki's. His hands worked as fast as they could, sneaking into the front of Toki's pants and pawing at him through his boxers before making contact, and Toki whined and gasped, unconcerned with making noise. He came in his pants, which made Skwisgaar curl his lip and laugh as Toki scrubbed furiously and futilely at the fabric.

"Yous dick," Toki said, pushing Skwisgaar back as he continued to laugh.

"Whatsever," Skwisgaar said, waving a hand over his shoulder as he exited the room. "Gots a show. Gets out in front and bes a good groupies slut, ja?"

Toki stuck his tongue out at Skwisgaar, which was sort of useless because Skwisgaar didn't see it, readjusted himself and walked out behind him. He went down some stairs to his right and entered the crowd, searching for his friends. He found them towards the front of the stage, Pickles drunk and swaying against Nathan, Murderface engaged in conversation with Dick. Dick had a clipboard in one hand and the other was pushing sunglasses off his head and into his overly gelled hair with the other; he was wearing a fitted dress shirt and an ascot, looking the epitome of lame manager/producer. As far as Toki could tell Murderface was into it, talking nonsense about  _labels_ and  _record deals_ and  _residuals_ with Dick.

"Hey guys," Toki said, sliding into place on Pickles's other sides.

"Where were you?" Nathan asked, talking over Pickles's head. As time went on it had become less weird that Toki was now taller than Pickles and capable of holding conversations over him but it still struck him as strange sometimes, the height difference. With Pickles's posture poorer due to his intoxication, this was one of those times.

"Backstage," Toki said. He tugged at the hem of his shirt, feeling uncomfortable and sticky. "Ams a groupie now."

"'Course you are," Pickles said. He slung an arm around Toki's shoulders and brought him down to his level, causing Toki's back to twinge in discomfort. "Don't get pregnant now, you here?"

"I—Pickle, what? Ams a man, doesn't get pregnants," Toki said, pulling himself up. He looked at Nathan, who was staring straight ahead at the band but chuckling to himself.

Pickles did not get a chance to justify his claim as Mark took the microphone onstage, clearing his throat into it. The dull buzz of conversation around the bar dimmed and people congregated towards the center, pushing Toki more towards the front. He caught Skwisgaar's eyes and smiled at him, his smile growing larger when he saw Skwisgaar's lips quirk and then turn downwards as he suppressed the expression. Toki heard some girl to his left talking about how hot the lead guitarist was and he stifled the urge to turn to her and tell her that that was  _his_  boyfriend.

"Hey, all," Mark said. He readjusted the strap of his bass. He was wearing that shirt with the intricate depiction of the anatomy of the human torso that he'd been wearing at the first gig, his hair longer and styled into a fringe. "We're Fuckface Academy and we're gonna rock your world." Toki, along with the majority of the crowd, cheered. A grin flickered across Mark's face; Skwisgaar rolled his eyes. Ritchie and George were both spaced, Ritchie staring into the distance and George at his feet.

They launched into their first song, Skwisgaar shredding with all the speed and skill Toki had come to know and love, Mark leaning into his bass and singing much better than Toki thought he could. The band  _had_ improved beyond the point of shitty grunge, finding their unique style and their individual rhythm, sounding like they could actually be something and go somewhere. Toki was cut off from the rest of his friends, could only see the top of Nathan's head above the crowd if he turned around, but it didn't bother him. He got a mosh pit going as he always did and elbowed some guy in the face, getting blood all over his hoodie, but he sort of liked it. Fuckface Academy played for an hour, mostly songs that Toki hadn't heard before with clipped one-word titles like  _Vacancy_ and  _Cocaine_. They finished with applause and screams, coated in sweat and smiling at the crowd, Toki whooping and hollering along with the rest of them. He scrambled towards Skwisgaar after the crowd began to thin, hoisting himself onstage and shedding his hoodie, hot from the physical exertion.

"Wowee," Toki panted. He swayed into Skwisgaar for support, adrenaline in his veins making him feel a little woozy. "You guys ams so good."

Skwisgaar shrugged, jostling Toki from his side. "We's better," he said. He set his guitar down on the stage and gestured for George to come take care of it. George didn't seem to notice. "What's yous plans after de show?"

"Stayin' over at Nathan's house," Toki said. He folded his hoodie and draped it over his arm, moved a piece of hair stuck to his face out of his eyes.

Skwisgaar nodded. "Mark ams all bitchy about de bands now more den before," Skwisgaar said. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked off to the side. His eyes followed Mark until he disappeared behind the curtain and then Skwisgaar turned back to Toki and uncrossed his arms, relaxing. "I guess it ams because we have a manager and a producer now but we's not allowed to goes out and has fun like before. Everything ams all serious and work."

Toki frowned. "No funs?" he asked. The idea was a reality he had faced before, back in dead Norwegian winters deep in a hole in the ground, and was not something he wanted to face again. He put a hand on Skwisgaar's arm.

"No funs," Skwisgaar said. He looked off to the side again. "But I thinks I can gets away during de daytimes. I has an idea."

"Oh?" Toki said.

"We could meets someplace during de day. I know you has school—"

"Fucks dat!" Toki's eyes went wide and he bounced, hitting Skwisgaar in the arm in the friendliest way he could manage. "Fucks schools, I hates it, I'd much rather be spending my times with  _you_."

Skwisgaar smiled this little smile and put a hand on Toki's shoulder. "Goods, dat's settled. Come on backstage and bes a good groupies now." His hand slid down until he was holding Toki's and they started walking in that direction, Toki stepping over Skwisgaar's guitar.

Fuckface Academy were milling around in the same area they had been earlier, though now Dick was there, standing with his sunglasses in his hair and his face twisted in a sour expression. Mark was sitting on the amp with his elbows on his knees and his hand in his hair, Ritchie leaning against the wall again and George moving in and out while he packed away their stuff.

"I cans helps," Toki offered to George as he walked by, carrying one of Ritchie's symbols. Dick was talking about boring music shit that had Skwisgaar and the rest of them captivated.

"Nah, man," George said, though he stopped. He rustled the back of his hair with a hand. "I'm used to it."

"Noes, reallies," Toki said. He broke his hold with Skwisgaar, who looked at Toki and propped an eyebrow. "I'm gonna helps George," Toki said. "Bes a proper groupies." He stood up and pecked Skwisgaar on the lips; George averted his eyes. He walked off from Skwisgaar alongside George. "What does I do?"

"Well, this, really," George said. They walked out of the backstage area and into the alley, where Mark's van was, the back doors propped open. George secured the cymbal inside of the van. "Go get Skwisgaar's guitar. The case is just around the corner backstage."

Toki nodded and took off, walking back out onto the stage to get Skwisgaar's guitar. He saw Nathan, Pickles and Murderface hanging out at the back, Pickles and Murderface knocking back shots while Nathan loitered about, looking pissed. Toki caught his eyes and smiled; Nathan gave half of an attempt at a wave, which was good enough for Toki. He bent over and scooped Skwisgaar's guitar up in his arms.

The feeling was immediate. Toki had never handled an instrument before this, exempting the forced piano lessons that came with attendance of his father's church, and the intimate relation to Skwisgaar made it all the more special. It was a gorgeous guitar, shining and well groomed, strings supple and body strong. Toki resisted the urge to sling the strap over his shoulder and pluck. He unplugged it from the amp and carried it as preciously as he would a human infant around the back of the stage, finding the case and securing it inside. He felt this strange emptiness inside of him as he packaged it away, as if the ghost of the guitar was still cradled in his arms. He picked the case up and slid an arm through the strap, walking back out into the alleyway. When he passed Skwisgaar, who was listening to Dick and Mark talk about possibly getting a little tour set up, he brushed his shoulder and smiled.

"Gots de guitar," Toki announced to George as he put it in the back of the van. George nodded at him. "Whats next?"

"The amps, and I have to finish Ritchie's drum kit, and then we're done. The amps are sort of heavy, sorry."

Toki shook his head, his hair whipping his face. "I can handles it," he said, chipper as ever.

"'Kay," George said. He took a piece of gum from his pocket and took a piece, plopping it in his mouth. He offered it to Toki, who declined with a shake of his head. They went back to the stage together, George not really speaking. He was about the same height as Toki and quiet in a way that wasn't awkward or disconcerting, just sort of his personality. He took the rest of Ritchie's drum kit while Toki went for the amps. They were heavy but it wasn't anything he couldn't handle, muscles strong after years of physical labor, and he took the remaining three back to the van with ease.

George closed the doors of the van and leaned against it with a sigh. He rustled the back of his hair with his hand again and produced a joint from the pocket of his cargo shorts, lighting it. He offered it to Toki who this time accepted it, inhaling hard.

"What ams it like to works with dem?" Toki asked, passing the joint back and positioning himself so he was leaning against the van beside George. The door to the bar was still open, faint sounds of conversation leaking into the night sky. The temperature had dropped—it was probably around ten o'clock or so—and the alley was unlit, almost scary, the only brightness coming in pools of yellow at either end of the alley from streetlights. Toki had this strange sentimental feeling spurring inside of him, almost a sense of nostalgia, but sucking on the end of the joint was helping to dull that.

"It's okay," George said after he took a hit, handing the joint back to Toki. "They're all, you know, pretty dominant personalities, so I'm just like, whatever."

Toki nodded. "I totally gets dat," he said. He took a hit and passed the joint back. "It ams de same way with my friends. Pickle and Moidaface ams loud and den Nathan and I are sorts of quiet."

Mark shook his head. "Nah, we're not friends," he said. He was staring into the open door of the bar, kind of like he was waiting for somebody to appear, holding the joint between two fingers as he talked. "I met 'em through an audition. Ritchie and Mark know each other from high school or something, I don't know." He dropped his head to take a long hit off the joint, sighing more than exhaling when he lifted it back up.

"Oh," Toki said. He held his hand out for the joint. He hated it when people hogged them. "And Skwisgaar?" he asked.

"We had another lead guitarist before him, a chick that Mark knew from high school—uh, Ex-Knife is about her, if you remember from the first show—but they had this really nasty break up. It was sort of funny, really." He laughed, this humorless chuckle thing that was more of an approximation of a laugh than an actual expression of humor. "Anyway. Mark kicked her out and held auditions and, well. Once you hear Skwisgaar, you want Skwisgaar."

"Tells me about it," Toki said.

"Yeah, that was sort of stupid. You guys are fucking, you get it." George laughed and took the joint back from Toki after Toki took another hit. Toki didn't bother to correct him. They weren't fucking, not really, not yet, but the idea made him happy, proud.

Toki and George passed the rest of the time in relative silence, getting high. Toki looked up into the night sky, seeing maybe one or two scattered stars but mostly just black. That was one thing he missed about Norway—an hour away from civilization the sky held many stars, and it made the labor that sometimes pushed into the early hours of the morning a little better. He would make wishes on them or try to count them as he chopped firewood and collected fish. They provided some light, lessening the fear of the dark and all that lurked within some. Here in Florida, in this weird mix of urban and suburban, there were very few stars, none at all more often than not. It wasn't like he was about to trade this much better life he was leading in America for some stars, but he was really high, and he would've liked to have been picking out constellations at the moment instead of craning his head and imagining being sucked up by the vacuum that was space.

The rest of Fuckface Academy, Dick, and Toki's friends spilled out of the back door after a while. Skwisgaar went to Toki, standing close to him and crossing his arms over his chest. Toki's friends hovered on the fringe, Nathan slapping his keys against his thigh, making a weird sound that echoed in the empty alleyway and made Toki's eye twitch.

"Well, guys, this is where we part," Mark said. George nodded and lifted himself off the van, walking around to get inside. Ritchie went to the passenger's seat.

"Sees you soon," Skwisgaar said, leaning down to speak into Toki's ear. Toki was not going to get sick of that anytime soon. Skwisgaar pressed his lips to Toki's earlobe, not quite a kiss or a bite, and put a hand on the small of his back as he rotated out and walked around. Toki shrugged and walked to his own friends.

"I'm gonna stay with Dick," Murderface announced. He seemed to be speaking to Nathan but was looking in the opposite direction, swaying back and forth.

"Good, 'cause you're drunk as shit. You always do this when you start drinking again," Nathan said, groaning. Pickles, not looking too sober himself, nodded in agreement.

"Ams high," Toki said, raising a hand to his mouth and giggling into it.

"Good for you, kid," Pickles said. He made a movement like he was going to put his arm around Toki's shoulder and stopped, most likely remembering that he was too short to do that now. He shrugged instead. Nathan rolled his eyes and started walking around to the parking lot; Pickles and Toki scrambled to catch up with him.

They drove back to Nathan's house and Toki was starting to sort of feel like a third wheel, wishing he had Skwisgaar with him. Or Murderface, but he'd much rather have Skwisgaar. When they got back to Nathan's they did the usual, amassing a large quantity of unhealthy food and heading for Nathan's basement. Toki laid on Nathan's couch and put a bowl of chips on his chest, eating and watching the slasher flick Nathan had put on. Nathan and Pickles were laying on the floor, Nathan drinking from one of his father's six packs and Pickles from some of Nathan's mother's wine. Toki felt himself starting to drift off to sleep, the bowl of chips empty and sliding off his chest, his body worn out from the work of the day, but jolted awake when he felt his phone vibrate deep in his pockets. He dug it out and saw a text from Skwisgaar, which he had figured it was.  _Fryday at 11 meats out side scul. Serpryse._ Toki smiled at the dismal English and put his phone back in his pocket, rolling over and curling up against the couch, letting sleep take ahold of him.

He woke in the morning to an empty room and a blanket draped over him. Like so many times before he felt sticky and gross, anxious to get home only to bathe, dreading the actual return home. He raised off the couch and stretched, twisting around, his back popping and crackling. He wandered up from the basement and to the main floor of the house, finding a bathroom and rinsing his face, before going into to the kitchen for some breakfast. Nathan's parents, probably at church or something, had left two boxes of donuts on the counter. Toki grabbed one and a glass of milk, eating at the table and waiting for Nathan to wake up so he could go home.

Nathan came down the stairs a short time later, still in boxers and the t-shirt he'd been wearing last night, his hair ruffled from sleep. "Donuts, sweet," he grumbled, heading for the boxes and proceeding to eat four donuts one after the other. Toki watched him absently. Nathan turned around, licked his fingers and said, "Pickles is still asleep. Probably gonna be for a while, he went fuckin' hard last night. I can take you home." Toki nodded. Nathan left and returned a few minutes later, this time in jeans and boots, his keys in his hand. The clock on the stove in the kitchen read eleven in the morning; Toki was surprised he'd slept so late.

When he arrived home Toki went about his usual Sunday chores. He briefly considered studying for exams, which started on Monday with Chemistry and English, and decided against it. He, instead, dawdled outside and called Skwisgaar, talking to him as he tended the garden. He mentioned exams; Skwisgaar laughed and said that he hadn't even finished school in Sweden. "Ams a guitars god," he said. Unlike most of Skwisgaar's phone calls there was no noise in the background, and Toki kept meaning to ask him where he was but was failing to find a good point in the conversation. "What's de point?"

"Speakings of dat," Toki said. He scrunched his shoulder up to keep the phone situated while he used both hands to pull potatoes from the earth. He grunted and ripped one up, running his ungloved (he wasn't allowed to have any) hands over it. "I holds yous guitar yesterday when I was helpin' George and I felt…weirds."

"Oh?" Skwisgaar asked, sounding genuinely intrigued.

"Yeah," Toki said. He dug into the dirt again, wrapping his hands around another potato.

"Well, hows did you feels weird?"

Toki readjusted his phone to keep it from slipping out into the garden among turnips and carrots and crouched down again, still working with the potatoes. "Kinds of likes…dis is going to sounds really gay, sorries. I felt like it was  _meants to be_."

"Like a spirituals connections?" Skwisgaar asked, continuing to sound generally interested.

"Yeah, likes dat," Toki said. He tugged the last potato from the ground and put it in the basket, moving on to work with the carrots. "A spirituals connections."

"Ams you sures it just amns't because it ams my guitar?" Skwisgaar asked, chuckling into the phone. Toki rolled his eyes as he tended to the leaves on the carrot plants, spraying them with pesticide. It pained him that his parents didn't buy the environmentally friendly type.

"I's sure," Toki said. He picked up the gardening fork beside him and dug into the soil around the carrots. "It ams was different from how I feels when I touches you. For ones, didn't feel anything in my dick."

"I feels things in my dick when I plays de guitar," Skwisgaar said. The tone of his voice, like it was weird to him that other people didn't, made Toki laugh.

"But it amsn't the same as when you touches me, right?" Toki said. He deposited the carrot in his basket and went to pick another one.

"I guesses not," Skwisgaar mused. There was a pause; Toki took the time to readjust the phone again. "So's what's you tryingks to says, Toki? You thinks you's meant to be a guitarist?"

"Maybes," Toki said. "I'll thinks about it. Hey, where ams you, by de way? There amsn't any noises in de background."

"Oh, ja, ams alone in the apartment. Marks and Ritchies and Georges ams out grocery shoppingks or somethingks, doesn't know, doesn't care."

"Oh, okays," Toki said. He furrowed his eyebrows and stood up with the basket. He was finished in the garden, which meant he had no reason to linger outside, but he didn't want to hang up on Skwisgaar. "Wishes we could bes together."

Skwisgaar groaned, but added a quiet, "Mes, too" onto the end of the noise. Toki smiled, feeling that was sufficient enough, and immediately dropped his smile when he saw the backdoor to his house begin to open.

"Gots to go," he whispered, quick and quiet, into the phone before slamming it into his pocket. He bent over and picked the basket up from the ground; when he came up he was face-to-face with his father.

Just for being outside a few seconds longer than required Toki was forced into the house by his father brandishing a whip at his heels; Toki could feel the snap of pain even through the ragged ends of his jeans. He bit on his lip and clenched his jaw together, squeezing his eyes shut and curling his fingers tight around the basket of vegetables. He left them on the kitchen counter, his mother withdrawing one to wash and ignoring the sound of the whip against the back of Toki's legs. His father steered him up the stairs and into his study, which was not a good sign, and had Toki put his hands on the back of his father's chair, drop his pants and raise his shirt. The whip moved up at a steady pace, against Toki's calves, against his thighs, against his ass, and stopping at his upper back. Toki wanted to scream loud and long, pain hot and fresh against his skin, but bit his lip hard enough that his mouth filled with blood instead. He swallowed it down, which might make him sick later—that had happened before—and turned to face his father. No words, just that  _look_ , and he dismissed Toki with a wave of the hand, gliding over to the shelf where he kept the whip hidden in a long box with a lock and key.

It was not yet dinnertime which meant that Toki had no option but to stew in his bedroom and wait for dinner before he could go to sleep and attempt to heal. His heels were bleeding, but the rest of the whip wounds weren't, which was good. The back of his body was striped with welts, hot to touch and raised off his skin in a garish red tone. He took an old t-shirt and ripped it in half, tying it around his heels so that he wouldn't soil his bedroom and have to clean it later, than lay on his bed. He dug his cell phone out of his pocket and checked it—no texts or missed calls—then stashed it inside of his pillow case, underneath the actual pillow. He swallowed back tears and laid on his stomach, staring into the sheets of his bed and feeling dizzy and nauseated from the swirling of negative emotions inside of his body. Guilt, shame, embarrassment, anger, it was all there, all twisting inside of his stomach. He was certain that if he were to eat dinner he would be sick, between everything he'd swallowed and his emotional state, but he still rose and wiped away whatever tears had managed to spill onto his cheeks despite his best efforts when his mother came to his door.

Dinner was stew made from the vegetables Toki had spent too long picking, carrots and potatoes floating in a thick broth, chunks of meat thrown in. Toki chewed slowly and carefully, swallowed painfully. His back stung, his face was swollen and hot, his stomach was flipping over itself every few seconds. After dinner he went to the bathroom and threw up, his father passing by and looking in with no interest. Toki cleaned the bathroom and went to bed.

The pain from that lashing lasted all week, everything from his backpack slapping against his back when he walked to the material of his jeans rubbing against his ankles agitating the pain. He was his usual self, maybe a little quieter, and the other guys didn't notice it. His head swam through his first four exams, the pain too great to do anything but Christmas tree the answer sheet and then drop his head to the desk and let himself pass out. By Wednesday it was a little bit better and he actually put effort into his German exam. He found the processes of translation and writing in another language calming, which allowed him to actually try at the World History exam before succumbing to making faces and communicating in a botched version of sign language that only he and his friends understood. His last exam was first thing in the morning on Thursday, making brownies in Home Ec, and the pain had subsided enough that he made brownies worthy of an A. He left with Murderface after that exam and headed to the skate park, though his back hurt too much to do anything else but sit by the fence and make fun of all the other shitty skaters with Murderface. Nathan and Pickles went to hang out with Charles and Abigail, Toki was pretty sure.

Friday was a regular school day and the first that Toki switched to 2D Art as opposed to Home Ec, though he wouldn't be there to actually attend the class. Ten minutes into lunch he said goodbye to Nathan, Pickles and Murderface, leaving his backpack in Pickles's care, and walked out the front doors of his school. He was surprised by how easy it was to just  _leave_ , and exhilarated, forgetting about the pain that sprung up every time he took a step. He hadn't spoken to Skwisgaar since Sunday, not willing to chance any more lashings by getting caught on the phone and Skwisgaar presumably too tied up with Fuckface Academy to visit him in the night, but he saw Skwisgaar standing off to the side, his hands on his hips and his neck craned to observe the school.

"Heys," Toki said, walking to join Skwisgaar. Skwisgaar dropped a hand to grab ahold of Toki's and then started walking.

"Heys," Skwisgaar said. He looked around and then raised Toki's hand to his lips to kiss the back of it, which made Toki flush in quite the pleasant way.

"So what ams we goin' to do?" Toki asked. It was cold outside and windy, his hair lifting from his shoulders. Skwisgaar's had his tied back and was wearing a thin flannel shirt over one of his usual muscle shirts, had both holes in his ears filled with small, diamond studs. Toki reached up to touch them with the hand that wasn't holding Skwisgaar's.

"Figureds we goes down to de waterfront since yous school ams kind of nears it," Skwisgaar said. "You's okay with walking?" He stopped, as they had reached a crosswalk, and looked at Toki.

"Ye—" Toki started, and then he stopped, his eyes falling. He sighed. "Noes, not really," he mumbled, looking at their shoes instead of at Skwisgaar's face. A dull happiness flared inside of him at the fact that they were both wearing Converse, though Skwisgaar's were white high-tops and Toki's were black low-tops. "Noes, I's not. I's kind of…hurts…really badly." He forced himself through the sentence.

Skwisgaar squeezed Toki's hand, prompting him to look up. Skwisgaar cocked his head and peered at Toki, his mouth tight. "Whys?" he asked, tentative.

Toki pressed the button on the crosswalk as an excuse to break eye contact as he said, "Parents," and that was enough. They crossed the street and walked a block down the nearest bus stop, Toki falling into the bench, mood dampened and sour.

"Heys," Skwisgaar said. With their hands still connected and held between their thighs he leaned over Toki and brushed a flyaway strand of hair behind his ears, left a kiss on his cheek. He scowled briefly, then shook it away, murmuring something negative and directed towards Toki's parents under his breath. He smiled and spoke up. "It ams okay. Doesn't bes sad, dat's no fun."

"Okays," Toki said. He smiled at Skwisgaar, still a little sad around the edges but willing to put in an effort.

They took the city bus to the waterfront and sat themselves on the seawall, legs drawn up between each other. It was cold by the water, cold even by Toki's standards, wind fierce, but he didn't think either of them cared. The park was relatively empty, what with it being before lunchtime on a Friday, and so they made out a bit, nothing too serious or heavy. Mostly they talked and they laughed and invented games to play with each other's hands, increasing the volume of everything they said and did over the sounds of the waves and the wind.

"Dis ams so much better den school," Toki said at one point, leaning into Skwisgaar and putting his forehead on his shoulder. He felt the muscles in Skwisgaar's neck ripple as he nodded and put his head on top of Toki's, his arms around Toki's back light enough not to cause any pain but tight enough to keep him close.

"School ams sucks," Skwisgaar said, sagely. Toki nodded as if this was a profound and groundbreaking statement.

When it got too cold for even Skwisgaar to bear and he had to admit it they migrated from the park to the nearest coffee shop, Skwisgaar buying them foaming mugs of hot chocolate with thick, sodden marshmallows, putting a shot of espresso in his own. They sat in a booth by a window, realized that the window radiated cold and then moved to a table towards the back. They watched the lunch crowd trickle in and buy thick sandwiches and warm cups of coffee, making fun of the patrons. "Look at dat dildo," Skwisgaar would say, raising his mug to his lip. "Leading a regulars jack-offs life. What a sheeps." Toki would nod in agreement, then point out a business lady and say something like,"Look at dat goils, her tits probably as wrinklies as lemons." Skwisgaar would laugh in appreciation.

They ebbed closer to the time when Toki would normally get out of school and left the coffee shop. It was less cold out away from the water and with the sun peeking out overhead, now tolerable, but Skwisgaar slung an arm around Toki's shoulders and pulled him close nonetheless. They waited for the bus and discussed music, and then they were on the bus, heading back towards Toki's school. Skwisgaar walked with Toki as far as he could go without infringing upon his school and slid his arms around Toki's waist, kissed him goodbye. Toki put his forehead against Skwisgaar and sighed.

"Dat was so much fun," Toki said, because it was, and he was starting to feel a little depressed at the thought of departing. He didn't have any plans for that weekend, was nervous about spending it with his parents.

"Ja," Skwisgaar said. He pulled Toki closer to him. "We does that again sometime." He let go of Toki and smiled at him; Toki nodded. They exchanged  _I love you's_ , Skwisgaar's under his breath and half intelligible, and parted.

Nathan drove Toki home along with Pickles and Murderface, Toki eager to get there to erase any phone messages the school might've left in his absence. He was pretty sure his mother didn't know the school's number and wouldn't have picked up and she didn't know how to listen to messages. His father would be out, working with church stuff, so Toki should be safe. He crossed his fingers in the backseat of the truck, forced fake laughter out at the usual hijinks.

He lost all hope the second he walked through the door. He had one arm holding his backpack, prepared to go into his room, drop it on the floor and get to his Friday afternoon chores. He was prepared to suffer through a weekend of monotony and possible punishment. He was not prepared for his father standing before him, seeming taller than usual, his frown deep and eyes dark. He wasn't holding the whip as far as Toki could see, which made him even more nervous. The only thing in Norway worse than the whip had been the punishment hole, but there was no punishment hole in America, and he hadn't yet been subjected to something worse. The way his heart and his gut fell through his body and to his feet, cracking and spilling their contents in a slimy feeling, told him he was about to be.

He flinched when his father spoke. He couldn't help it, his voice was just so  _rare_. "Your school called," his father said, in that raspy Norwegian Toki had come to associate with dark, dark things. "You were not there, and yet I saw you leave. Where did you go? Don't you understand how important education is?"

Toki opened his mouth to answer these questions, but his father reached out and smacked him hard across the face before he could do so.

"Don't even answer me!" his father said, retracting his hand only to reach out and slap Toki again, this time in the opposite direction. "I do not want to hear your voice. Go to your room. You are not permitted to leave this house unless you are going to school and if the school calls again, there will be further consequences."

Toki started to walk off, but was stopped by a forceful hand to his shoulder. His father pushed him back; Toki hit the door, his backpack falling from his arm and hitting the floor with a dull noise that made Toki cringe.

"Look at how much you made me speak," Toki's father said, his voice low and quiet, burrowing inside of Toki's head. Toki wanted to shut his eyes and clamp his hands over his ear and curl up and die. "You devil child." Toki's father advanced on him and slapped him again, harder than the last two, bringing tears to Toki's eyes. "Go now." He backed off and left room for Toki to walk. Toki picked his backpack up with one arm and went to his room.

It might have been melodramatic to call it a new punishment hole, but for all intents and purposes, that's what it was. He put his backpack on his desk chair and curled up on the bed. He wasn't feeling anything, completely hollowed, his brain empty. Soon the thoughts, ramifications, hypotheticals and all else would crash down on him, make him want to scream and kick and kill somebody, but for now all he felt was nothing but pain flaring up on his back, his heels, his face, emotions blunted. It took ten, maybe fifteen, minutes for negativity to start seeping in, surging forward like bile, making him lurch. No friends—no concerts, no movies, no mall, no downtown—no escape—no  _Skwisgaar_ —for an indefinite, but definitely long, amount of time. His thoughts wavered back to the idea of  _further consequences_ , but as far as Toki was concerned there was nothing worse than this hell shoved onto him.


	11. Crisis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not nearly as fond of this chapter as I was of the last two ones, wah, whatever. Don't expect two updates in one month again, but I myself was distressed after that cliffhanger and had to get through it, you know? I will be taking a bit of a break from this story to focus on my big bang fics, sorry! It won't be drastic, I promise. Most of my favorite parts of this chapter involve Pickles, hmm. I wonder if you guys will feel the same way I do.

He had pushed too hard. He was greedy, selfish. He had taken the little that his parents had given him and asked for a lot; he had disregarded their boundaries, traveled far out of them. He had fucked up and now he had to pay the consequences. In addition to the grounding the Bible was forced on him once more, his father setting the air to a low temperature and stripping Toki naked, sitting him at the kitchen table and placing the book, written in Norwegian, in his hands. He asked Toki to read passages out loud, to give him answers, to provide him with commentary. If Toki stumbled over the text his father would slap the back of his hands with a ruler; if Toki said something to his father's distaste he would be belted; if Toki answered a question wrong he would receive a lash to the back with the whip. He did this for two hours a day in addition to his regular chores, as well as anything else his mother and father came up for him to do. One day it was to stand holding a box filled with rocks for an hour; another day it was to rearrange the living room and then put it back exactly as it was, which he failed at and received further punishment for.

Toki was raw, physically and mentally. He hurt, everywhere, all the time, and he was back to stewing inside of himself. He was unable to communicate with Skwisgaar, having made the decision to hand over his phone to Pickles while he was grounded, instructing Pickles to inform Skwisgaar of the grounding and instruct him not to visit him. His friends were as sympathetic as they could be, which was barely sympathetic at all. It wasn't their fault that they were ignorant to Toki's condition, and maybe they would've been a little better if they knew, but Toki was not about to tell them. He hid the physical evidence of his parents' discipline with clothing appropriate to the weather, wore fingerless gloves like he sometimes did anyway to hide the back of his hands.

His exam results, and thus his semester grades were in. He had gotten straight D's on his first four exams, bogging his semester grade down to C's in those classes, a B in German (and thus a B for the semester), a C in World History (another semester C), an A in Home Ec (with a B for the semester), which was a little worse than he normally did. His parents had no way of checking his grades—they didn't even care about his grades, those hypocrites. They only added another weight to Toki's shoulders. Toki considered himself a happy person, but the longer this punishment went on, the unhappier he became. Anger flared up first, hot and blinding, then dimmed into a depression that hollowed out into a numbness. After almost two weeks it got to the point where his friends noticed.

"Dude, Toki, you okay?" Pickles asked as they walked from their math class to lunch. Toki's hands, shoved into the pockets of his jeans, ached, his back stinging. He'd been biting his lip and the knuckles of his fingers all day to distract himself from the pain.

Toki shrugged. "Am just a little bummed about bein' grounded," he said,

Pickles scrunched his eyebrows up. "Skwisgaar's really concerned about you, you know," he said, speaking slowly, tentatively. "Askin' about you and stuff. And you've been kind of quiet. I know it's gay to be worried—"

"Is not gay to worry about your friends," Toki mumbled. Something about that pissed him off, more than it usually would. "Is gay to suck cock, Pickles."

"Whoa, okay." Pickles put his hands up and stopped walking. Toki took a few more steps before realizing that Pickles had stopped and turned around to look at him. Toki stood hunched, his hair hanging, and scowled. "C'mon, Toki, cheer up. It's depressing to hang out with someone who's unhappy, alright? You aren't going to be grounded forever."

"I might be," Toki said. To Pickles this might've sounded melodramatic, but it was an idea Toki could see becoming a reality with ease. "Ain't nothing you can do, Pickles. Come on, let's go lunch, am hungry." He stood up straight and let a smile pass over his face. Pickles sighed but resumed walking beside Toki, changing the conversation into something about what his other friends had done last weekend when they were tweaking. Toki didn't pay attention, too distracted by his own distress.

The next day was a Friday. Sourness twisted inside of Toki's stomach at the thought of spending another weekend alone in the house with his parents. The last two had been tortuous, chores from sun-up to sun-down, sitting through all the sermons in church, extra punishments and assignments set on top of his shoulders. Even Rockzo, who usually cheered Toki up with his colorful appearance and personality, was irritating him as he sat in Chemistry. Nathan and Pickles were late, that Emmy chick was making eyes at him, Rockzo was babbling on, and Toki was done, so done. He groaned and dropped his head to the desk, thought about bashing it in until his brain bled from his broken skull.

He sat up when he felt something poke into his side and was immediately blinded by something being shoved into his face. Whatever it was dropped into his lap and he saw Nathan taking his seat in front of him, Pickles still absent. Toki took the thing from his lap and saw that it was a sweater, an oversized cable-knit black sweater with the tag still in. He straightened it out on the desk and found a note stuck between the folds, a piece of what looked to be sheet music covered in handwriting he didn't recognize. He read the note and bit back both a smile and tears, a mix of intense forlornness and intense felicity surging forth inside of him. Dis ams old swetters frum Sweden. Shuld fits yoo. Needed git rids ovs it. Ta hand om dig själv. All min kärlek, Skwisgaar. Toki didn't recognize kärlek, though he had an idea of what it meant.

Toki slid the sweater over the long-sleeved shirt he was already wearing. It did fit, as Skwisgaar liked to wear his clothes baggy, and it smelled like him, honeysuckle shampoo and that scent that was indigenous to only Skwisgaar's skin. He folded the note and put it into his pocket, thinking that he might start a scrapbook, somehow. Wearing the sweater cheered him up—it felt like being hugged, and the note that Skwisgaar had included with it gave him an idea.

"Hey, Nathan," he said, leaning forward to tap Nathan on the shoulder. Nathan turned around and grunted in response. "Did Skwisgaar have you give this to me?"

"Yeah," Nathan said. "You guys are such fuckin' fags."

Toki beamed. "I know," he said, sitting back into his chair. "When did you see him?"

"Yesterday. He met me after school and, like, gave it to me. Then he left. I don't know." Nathan sighed; the bell started to ring.

"Oh, okay," Toki said. He stuck his tongue between his lips and considered the idea. "So, can you do me a favor?" he asked, approximating his face into the best puppy dog look he could manage.

"What?" Nathan asked. The bell finished ringing and the door to their classroom opened, Pickles stumbling in, Nathan watching.

"Tell you at lunch," Toki said. Nathan grunted in response and pulled Pickles's chair out for him, as Pickles appeared to be intoxicated and was swaying on his feet.

Toki spent all of Chemistry and the better part of English working on the letter he'd decided to write to Skwisgaar. He wrote in English, slipping some untranslatable Norwegian phrases in, and instructed Skwisgaar to please write in Swedish in any future correspondences. The gist of his letter was that he missed Skwisgaar, it sucked to be grounded, his parents were mean, his friends sucked when it came to this, and he really, really missed Skwisgaar. 3D Art gave him the idea to include some drawings and so he went back through his letter, illustrating the main points with doodles in the margins, and included a depiction of them laying in the grass together that covered an entire page. He folded the papers together four times and wrote Skwisgaar's name across what he guessed to be the front, decorating every side with hearts and music notes and anything else he could think of.

Pickles started laughing and banging his fists on the table when he saw the letter as Toki handed it over to Nathan. Nathan regarded the thing with disgust, holding it between two fingers and putting it into his front pocket, his lip curled. Murderface didn't seem to notice, preoccupied with his food and his cell phone, chewing loudly.

"I really appreciate this, Nathan," Toki said. He hoped that, by expressing that, Nathan would be more inclined, or at least feel more pressured, to get the letter to Skwisgaar faster. Though it was an ancient and archaic way of communication it was effective, and Toki was itching to hear back from his boyfriend. His sex drive had disappeared in light of his punishment and the pain he felt because of it, but the combination of even those short sentences and the sweater encasing Toki and flooding him with Skwisgaar's scent every time he moved his upper body was doing things to his dick. He was horny, lonely and sad and the letter residing in Nathan's possession could help to lessen at least one of those things.

The rest of the day passed by much more quickly than Toki would've liked for it to. He took the bus home to delay the inevitable, dreading a weekend of chores and punishment with every inch of his being. His toes curled, his forehead wrinkled, his fists tightened, and not even the sweater he wore helped. He took it off and stuffed it in his backpack before entering the house, certain that if his parents found it they would somehow destroy it, and Toki couldn't bear the idea. He got to work on his chores immediately and waited for his father to return from the church for their Bible Study, his mother hovering around the stove as usual. They hadn't started restricting Toki's food intake yet but he was afraid that they would if he fucked up too badly—they did that sometimes in Norway, nights without dinners and mornings without breakfasts, days of labor in between.

After his session with his father, his back and his hands stinging with pain on the surface of his cold skin, he snuck into the shower. He stood with his forehead pressed into the tile of his bathroom wall, his back angled away from the stream of water. With the door and the windows shut and the shower curtain snug against the wall he let the steam and the heat build up and warm him, let himself cry tears of pain and frustration. He would've curled his hands into fists and beat them against the wall if it didn't hurt to flex the skin on the back of them. Instead he let the negativity, along with blood from recent wounds, leak from his body and slither through the shower drain. He knew that the next night he'd be in the same position, doing the same things, but for now he let a pleasant numbness overtake him. He got out of the shower and dried off, went back to his room so that he could dress in three layers of clothing and fall asleep underneath a thin sheet, alone.

ne.

d off, went back to his room so that he could dress in three layers of clothing and fall asleep underneath a thin sheet, alo Saturday passed by much the same. Toki went through the motions of chores, followed by being strapped to a chair in the shed, his face covered with a cloth and freezing water dumped over his head. Afterwards was more Bible Study extending late into the evening, Toki trying not to shiver in fear of further punishment though he was so, so cold. His mother served them dinner, Toki's portion of the most unappetizing soup he'd ever seen served cold. He tried to warm himself up after dinner by spending forty-five minutes in a scalding shower and largely failed, resorted to pulling Skwisgaar's sweater over three other shirts and crawling into bed. He didn't care about the possibility of further punishment—for shivering, for showering, for the sweater—he just needed the comfort, the smell, and he wrapped his arms around himself and slept.

In the morning he woke to his mother shaking his shoulder. She stared at Toki's sweater but regarded it with passivity otherwise. Toki realized that most of his clothes came from his friends, but he felt protective and paranoid about the sweater, as if it would clue his parents into Toki's relationship with Skwisgaar. Nonetheless he got up and shed it, stashing it again in his backpack when his mother left the room so that she wouldn't wash it and the smell wouldn't dissipate. He dressed for the day, khaki's and a nice button-down, as today his parents were hosting some sort of church social. His mother returned in a few minutes and he stood in front of her, letting her braid his hair. She did not try to be careful, yanking a brush down his hair, untying particularly stubborn knots with her knobby fingers, pulling and tugging strands into place. Toki didn't have a mirror in his room and was glad for that, his eyes stinging.

He attended the early morning service at his father's church alongside his mother, spent the entire time feeling sorry for himself and miserable. It reminded him so much of being back in Norway between the cold and the chores and the lack of communication with the outside world that he sometimes found himself thinking in Norwegian, thinking he was literally in Norway, that he would never get out. His father's voice crawled down the pews, scraped scalps, infected ears, and Toki kept his hands folded in his lap, his eyes set straight ahead. He almost expected it to be snowing outside the stained glass windows.

Toki and his mother returned to their house before his father, who stayed behind to give the later service, making sure that the house was ready to serve. He set the backyard up for his parents, dragging out the folding tables and chairs from the shed and draping nice tablecloths over their hard, plastic surfaces, setting them, and doing some minor landscaping. He carried trays of food from the kitchen to the buffet table, swept the floors from the entranceway to the backdoor of the house, cleaned both the downstairs and upstairs bathroom. The first guests trickled in shortly after, a family with a young boy who seemed genuinely happy and that Toki hated on first sight. He welcomed people at the door, showed them to the backyard, offered to take their coats as the midday sun warmed the earth. The weird kids that also went to his school—Ravenwood, Crozier, Orlaag and Salacia, who was a senior and acted as the leader amongst the others, who were sophomores—passed by and sneered at him. Toki smiled back.

In the backyard Toki piled a plastic plate with food. It tasted weird to eat such American things like chicken wings and potato salad prepared by his mother's hands, but the food wasn't bad and he was hungry, having made the decision to forego breakfast to make it to church on time and then to help with the party set-up. He stood by himself with his back against one of side of the shed, obscured. His parents had a fence taller than Toki outlining the backyard and Toki stared at it as he ate. He listened to the sounds of the party behind him: the high-pitched squealing of children, the low grumble of adults, the rustling in the leaves as wind drifted through, plastic silverware scraping plastic plates. It felt foreign to him, fake. This wasn't the life they lead, instead the one they pretended to. He suppressed the urge to sigh and stood up straight, going to throw away the remnants of his lunch before rejoining the party.

His father and his mother talking in English, dressed in friendly American clothes, made the entire thing all the more unnerving. Toki's father ushered him to his side so that he could compare him to the teenage son of Mrs. Crozier, the hard bite in his father's voice telling him that he was not the victorious one in that comparison, Crozier on both the football and debate team. After that Toki flitted over to his mother, helped her serve food and clean up. He watched his father try to wheedle people into joining the church or donating more money, acted the part of good minister. He took people aside to talk to them personally, put his hands on the shoulder of youths, even smiled. It made the hairs on the back of Toki's neck rise, his skin prickle, his scars sting.

The party wound down after a few hours, when the sun began its descent and the temperature began to play follow the leader. People put hands over their stomachs, thanked his mother for the good food, thanked his father for the festivity, pledged money or membership. They exited through the careful path of backdoor, landing, kitchen, entranceway, front door. Toki stood and said goodbye, shook more hands than he cared to, suffered the stares from that strange group of teenagers and couldn't find the energy to shoot a sarcastic smile in response. Toki pulled the door shut after the last guest and reached a hand behind his head to undo the braid in his hair.

Bible Study was extra-long that night, his father drawing it out as the evening turned over to night, never getting sick of that God shit. Toki was sick of it, though; his voice shook with fear that he'd slip up and say something that revealed his true feelings about religion. While inside he boiled with rage on the outside he was petrified with fright, afraid that the slightest gaffe might end in his permanent disfiguration or death. He gave in, let himself shiver openly in the cold, far too wrecked to put an effort in. His father noticed and swung the whip harder, hard enough that Toki's back bled, that he passed out.

He woke up early in the morning, still in that chair and still naked, blood crusted on his back. A glance at the clock on the stove told him that it was four-thirty in the morning but he felt alert and awake. As quietly as he could manage he led himself into the bathroom, marveling at how he failed to die of hypothermia or anything else. He gave himself a sponge bath out of the sink, afraid that the noise of water pounding the tile in the shower would wake his parents, and had to stop several times to grip the edges and cry. Too many thoughts were bouncing around in his head to make sense of them, stirring too many feelings to identify, and he was going to have to leave to catch the bus for school in an hour and forty-five minutes.

He realized that he had failed to do any homework as he pulled Skwisgaar's sweater from his backpack to finish dressing. The sweater had not lost the strength of its scent or its comforting nature and Toki spent the remaining time waiting for school sitting with his back against the wall on his bed, hugging himself, letting the light from a slow sunrise fill the room and cast stunted shadows. He heard his mother moving around and realized he'd forgot to clean off the chair and the floor, dread sinking deep into the pit of his stomach.

When it was time to leave for the bus he did, swinging his backpack over his shoulders and slipping his feet inside of his Converse. He didn't see his father on the way out, probably in his study doing whatever it was that he did. Toki walked to the bus stop as he did every morning, his hands on the straps of the backpack and his eyesight directed down, wind whipping his hair around and air brisk. There were other kids that waited at Toki's bus stop along with him but he didn't know them, as they had refuted his attempts at making nice in the beginning of the year. He stood with his arms crossed over his chest, sometimes uncrossing them and bringing the sleeves of his sweater—they hung over his hands, Skwisgaar's arms longer than Toki's—to his face, rubbing them over his cheeks and nose. It probably looked mildly creepy but Toki just didn't care.

The bus rolled up and opened its door, sucking students inside for a fun day of hell at school. Toki sat in the middle, by himself at a window seat, and rested his forehead against the cold glass. He shut his eyes though he wasn't tired for the duration of the ride, suspended in a daydreaming state. He thought of old memories and meshed them with fantasy, thinking about his friends, about Skwisgaar, about all the fun they'd had in any combination. He arrived at school and went to Murderface's locker where he normally hung out in the mornings, Nathan and Pickles in a perpetual state of lateness.

"Hey," Murderface said, failing to notice the expression of complete and utter depression and despair on Toki's face. He closed his locker and turned to face Toki, clunky headphones around his neck and emitting a static screech of metal.

"Hey," Toki said. He dropped his backpack to the ground and leaned back against the lockers. He ran a hand through his hair, turned his head to look at Murderface. "What time is it?"

Murderface pulled his phone, to which the headphones were connected, out of his pocket. "Like schix-fifty," he said.

"Okay, alright," Toki said. "What're you listening to?" He gestured to Murderface's headphone, sparking a conversation between them that lead them up to the ringing up the bell. They split ways then, Murderface going in the opposite direction for his first period of Gym and Toki going to Chemistry. Without the engagement of socialization Toki's happiness (and lips) fell, his hands curled on the straps of his backpack, the wind painful on his skin. He'd forgotten to wear gloves and kept tugging the sleeves of his sweater over his hands, though the marks of the ruler weren't bad and easily excused.

The door to his chemistry class was locked, a few students loitering in the hallway and waiting for the teacher. Toki sat on the floor opposite the door beneath a poster advertising the Gardening Club, which would be of interest if gardening wasn't a chore forced upon him. Nathan showed up with a thermos of what Toki assumed to be coffee in his hands and a beanie over his hair in disregard of the dress code and kicked Toki in the calf to get his attention.

"Lover boy wrote you back," Nathan said, reaching into one pocket of his jeans and depositing the keys he'd been holding to retrieve a folded piece of stationary. Toki reached up to grab it, not getting off the floor, and moved his feet back and forth to exert some of the excitement he was feeling, the rubber tips of his Converse hitting each other. Nathan remained standing, sipping from this thermos and looking disinterested.

The letter was written in simple Swedish with words that were either the same in Norwegian or close enough that Toki could figure out what they meant. It covered the fronts of two unlined pieces of paper, Skwisgaar's handwriting slanted and loopy in a careless way, lines too long and hanging off letters. Toki beamed as he read it—I miss you too, I apologize for your parents, Ritchie and Mark are about to drive George and me crazy, nice drawing but I don't think you captured my good looks well enough—and kicked his feet some more before he refolded the papers and put them in his backpack. He was going to start on the next one as soon as he could though at the end Skwisgaar had pointed out that they could text in school via Nathan or Pickles's phones, or even talk during lunch. Something about the letters appealed to Toki, though. He'd be able to read them at home, a sort of mental escape from his parents, and he liked Skwisgaar's handwriting, liked the way he scrawled over words he'd somehow fucked up on instead of crossing them or drawing an x through them (as Toki did), liked the way he didn't dot his i's and how he signed his name at the end as if he were signing an autograph.

The bell rang and their teacher still didn't appear. Rockzo showed up and took his insane clown posse over by the huge floor-length window in a corner in that building, generally being nuisances. Pickles showed up—sober—and fell to the floor beside Toki, pulling a Sharpie from his pocket and drawing on the toes of Toki's Converse. Toki reread the letter three times, recapping the thing to Pickles as Pickles worked way too hard to create a mandala on Toki's right shoe. Pickles looked up from his work, clapped Toki on the back, which hurt, and beamed at him. "You kids," Pickles said, fondness in his voice, and he returned to his work. Nathan finished his coffee and put the thermos in his backpack, announced that he was going to go use the bathroom and walked off.

The teacher never showed up, the kids in the hallway for fifteen minutes into first period before another teacher came walking through and got somebody to come unlock the door and call up a substitute on short notice. That teacher returned to their class, leaving a bored maintenance worker in charge of the classroom. Toki took Pickles's cell phone and texted Skwisgaar, going through all the pictures Pickles liked to take when he was drunk while waiting for a response. They were mostly close-ups of various parts of Pickles's face, a dreadlock framing an eye or the freckles on his cheekbones, but Toki found a few of himself, even one of him and Skwisgaar from the last Fuckface Academy show he wasn't aware Pickles had taken. It was them on stage talking to each other, his hand on Skwisgaar's arm and Skwisgaar looking off to the side. It broke Toki's heart a bit and he stayed there, his thumb frozen in the swiping position. Ten minutes after he'd texted him Toki received an incomprehensible message back from Skwisgaar and he called him, figuring their impromptu sub wouldn't really care.

"You wokes me up," Skwisgaar complained as soon as he answered the phone, his voice croaky.

"Sorry," Toki said, though he was smiling and his tone of voice indicated that he clearly was not sorry. He was sitting on top of his table, facing Nathan and Pickles who were involved in a gossipy conversation about Abigail and Charles and he swung away from them, laying on his back on the table. He counted cracks in ceiling tiles while he listened to Skwisgaar talk.

"Eh, whatsever, Mark woulds probablies wakes me up soon anyway. Speakingks of Marks, he ams not lettingks me writes songs. He says my English amns't goods enough, but what's you needs English fors to write de music?"

"You don't," Toki said.

"Dat's what I says," Skwisgaar said. "George agrees wit me, but Ritchie agrees wit Mark, so dere's dat. What ams you up to? Why can yous calls me, aren't yous in class?"

"I am," Toki said. He hadn't stopped smiling since the conversation began, but he smiled so large it hurt his face. He kicked his legs, which were hanging off the desk, idly. "But our teacher didn't show up so we have a sub that doesn't care about using our phones. Or Pickle's phone, I guesses."

"Very cools," Skwisgaar said. "Dis one times in Sweden I screwed mines teachers for de whole periods. Everybody loveds me after dat."

Toki felt a small twinge of jealousy but stifled it, far too happy to care about Skwisgaar's past sexual escapades. "My teacher probably dieds. He's olds."

Skwisgaar laughed. "Brutals," he said.

They talked for the rest of the period. Toki gave a reluctant goodbye and hung up when the bell rang, giving Pickles back his phone. He went to English and ignored the lecture and Murderface's annoyingly cheerful Monday ramblings about his weekend to work on his next letter to Skwisgaar. For Skwisgaar's benefit he drew Mark and Ritchie getting stabbed in the head at the top of the page, coloring the blood with the red pen Murderface liked to write with. Murderface protested and stole the pen back from Toki quite violently, attracting the attention of their teacher and earning Murderface detention; Toki snorted into his hands. In 3D Art Toki worked on the letter some more, having finished his sculpture ahead of the rest of the class. In Math he texted Skwisgaar from Pickles's phone underneath the desk, missing a lecture on asymptotes. At lunch he called Skwisgaar again, talking for a shorter amount of time as Toki heard Mark calling the band to practice over the phone and Skwisgaar sighing, telling Toki goodbye with irritation in his voice. Toki gave Nathan Skwisgaar's next letter, begging him to get it to him as fast as he could; Murderface rolled his eyes and told Toki how dramatic he was being. The rest of the day passed by much more boringly than the first half.

The week took a similar pattern. Toki would text Skwisgaar in Chemistry and not receive a response until Math, where they would hold a conversation that would turn verbal as soon as fourth period turned into lunch. Skwisgaar complained about Fuckface Academy; Toki gave him small details of his parents, omitting specifics and Bible Study, and the subject always seemed to sour the conversation. Toki got another letter from Skwisgaar on Thursday which opened with Skwisgaar expressing annoyance at having to write letters back and forth but going on to provide Toki with three pages of flowery Swedish text that Toki had to consult an online translator for at points, deciphering the letter in Math after taking a quiz. Toki wore the sweater nonstop, telling this to Skwisgaar in a letter. His friends made fun of it but he continued to wear it, relishing in its literal and metaphorical warmth.

The pattern of that week became the pattern of the following weeks. But Toki was an anxious person and despite the façade of happiness his life had taken on, worrisome things lurked under the surface. His parents continued to punish him, though the pain had become a constant he'd learned to live with, and he had no hope of becoming ungrounded anytime soon. Charles and Abigail joined them at lunch one day when their usual group of friends were on a field trip they'd elected not to go on as to not miss any more of their school, and though they exhibited no public displays of affection the obvious closeness between them made Toki burn up with jealousy, as that day happened to coincide with one of the days where Mark had Skwisgaar occupied during the time they would usually talk. Toki spent that lunch thinking about his correspondences with Skwisgaar, the pages-long letters and the back-and-forth text conversations, the long talks over the phone in the middle of a school day, and became convinced that they were not enough. He grew paranoid—he hadn't seen Skwisgaar in weeks, February was in just a few days, Skwisgaar was a physical, a sexual, person, and surely Toki was no longer enough. He chewed on the inside of his cheek and focused on this specific subject so much throughout that lunch that he lost track of the conversation, his eyes rolling back in his head, an immense negativity taking hold of him. It got to the point where he couldn't stand it and he gestured to Pickles, asking him to accompany him to the bathroom, giving himself a sense of déjà vu.

Toki pulled Pickles aside once they exited the cafeteria. He wasted no time in getting to the subject, chewing on his lip, his hands tight on Pickles's shoulders and eyes bugging out, focused somewhere behind the other boy. "I'm scared that Skwisgaar am—is going to break up with me," he said.

Pickles removed Toki's hands from his shoulders. He sighed, like he'd been expecting this conversation for a long time, and established eye contact with Toki. "Don't worry, dude. We talk to him now, you know, we hang out with him some, we like him. We gotta, you know, if he's our friend's boyfriend and they're doing some Shakespearian rom-com shit and expecting us to help 'em talk to each other. Anyway. He's too far in, Toki. He's so deep. He cares about you a lot. He wouldn't say that to your face, but you have no idea how pissed he is about your parents. He says he's not even thinking about whatever sex stuff it is that you guys do, he's just thinking about, like, your smile, and a bunch of gay shit like that." Pickles groaned, then, but kept talking. "Don't expect another speech like this again, okay? This is so gay, Toki, this is the gayest, most melodramatic shit you douchebags have put me through in my entire life. But—hey. Hey. Don't give me that look. I'm doing it, ain't I? Doing it for you, 'cause you're our friend." He patted Toki on the shoulder, awkwardly, before retracting his hand and giving it a look as if he wasn't sure why he just did that.

"Thanks, Pickle," Toki said. He let his body fall into a hug with Pickles, not even caring about looking gay or whatever, just squeezing Pickles tight. "You's such a good friend."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Let go of me, dude." Toki did, and Toki couldn't help but to look a little sad, because though he felt reassured the worries were still there and he was still grounded and suffering. Pickles seemed to pick up on this. "Stop looking so fuckin' sad, dude. Hey. Hey—remember that time freshman year when Murderface fell into that shower thing in Biology and got totally soaked?"

The memory came to mind as quickly as flicking on a light switch—Murderface jackassing around in Biology around that time last year, stumbling over some girl's backpack and catching his arm on the huge ring hanging down from the emergency shower, releasing a torrent of water over his body. He'd had to go to the office, where he waited shivering in wet clothes for two periods before his grandmother could arrive and give him new ones. Toki had heard from the person working in the office as an attendant that period that it had caused a huge scene, Murderface's grandmother yelling at him in a lisp for fifteen minutes about how irresponsible and foolish he was and how he'd interrupted her bingo game down at the senior center and there would be hell to pay when he got home. The clothes she'd brought had been too small and didn't match at all, and Toki was doubled over in laughter now just thinking about it. "Oh my God, Pickle," he wheezed, "I'd totally forgotten about that." He hadn't, obviously, but he hadn't thought about it in months.

Pickles grinned, proud of himself. "Okay, Toki, is your gay crisis over? What is this, your second one? Third? Are these gonna be a regular thing?"

"I hopes not," Toki said. He wiped tears of laughter away from his eyes and frowned, then shook his head to get rid of the frown. The bell rang, cafeteria doors bursting open and spilling the student body into the hallway. "Oh, heys, almost forgots. I have another letter for Skwisgaar. Can you give it to Nathan for me?" Pickles nodded and Toki gave him the letter.

January became February and Toki was still grounded, though he suspected his father was growing bored with it. He no longer gave extraneous chores or particularly superfluous and unique punishments for the slightest incident. His mother had stopped participating in general. They hadn't even bothered to restrict Toki's food, instead ignoring him at dinner all together. Toki chanced sneaking painkillers sometimes, found the time to start doing his homework again and even jacked off in the shower one night, the lessening pain from the lessening punishments and the return of Skwisgaar as a fixture in his life restoring some of his sex drive. The sweater from Skwisgaar contained only a trace of his scent now, which was sad, and he stopped wearing it every day, but the fondness he felt when he looked at it folded over his chair or crumpled up in his bed only increased. His life was climbing out of his nadir, his depression and anxiety lessening somewhat.

It culminated when, on a Thursday eight days before Valentine's Day, Toki arrived home to meet his father in the doorway. He felt that familiar fall in his stomach, certain he was about to be choked for death for existing, but the atmosphere was surprisingly light. His father led him into the kitchen and sat him down at the table. It was weird to be at the kitchen table with his father fully clothed and without the pretense of Bible Study, even weirder to watch his father knit his fingers together and exhale—not quite a sigh, not quite a normal breath.

"Toki," his father began. "Can you tell me what you learned from these last few weeks?"

Toki stared at the table and tried to come up with the right answer. He hadn't learned anything besides what isolation felt like and how much his body could physically take. He supposed he learned the thrill of writing and receiving letters and wearing your lover's sweater, but he wasn't about to tell his father that. He'd learned that his friends most likely cared even if they pretended not to. He'd relearned that he could survive. He looked back at his father. "I learned the value of Christian ideals," he said, speaking in Norwegian, his voice as steady as he could make it. "Of hard work, honesty, and dutifulness to God."

His father nodded, curt. Toki hadn't believed a word of what he'd just said. "I think," his father said, eyes intense on Toki's own, "that that is sufficient. I grow tired of this constant looking after you and your devilish soul. I hope that I have instilled in you the values to make the proper choices outside of my care and if I have not, I have failed as a parent. But listen here, child." He unthreaded his fingers and slammed his hand on the table; Toki, reminded of the ruler against the back of his hand, resisted the urge to twitch. "I do not fail."

"I understand," Toki said. He didn't. "Does this mean—"

"It means," his father said, interrupting him. The spite drained from his voice with the next words and he exhaled again, put his fingers back together on the tabletop. "I do not want to see you around here so often. Your presence makes it hard to work with those who actually care for the path of God. Go, be gone now."

Toki rose from his chair, pushing himself off with his hands flat on the tabletop. The ruler hadn't left scars, the marks all but faded now, but he felt permanently imprinted with the memory of the Bible Study. He went back to his room, resisting the urge to whoop and holler and scream for joy. He'd ask Pickles for his phone back, tell Skwisgaar he could resume the nightly visits, return to hanging out with his friends. That train of thought led him to remember that Fuckface Academy were playing again this weekend, as they'd been doing every weekend, one of the bands in the set-up to provide music for an art walk downtown on Saturday. And Toki would be able to go, be able to see Skwisgaar again, to touch him and feel him and smell him in full. Toki had been to Hell and now Toki was coming back.

He told his friends the good news tomorrow, Murderface uncaring at his locker, Nathan uncaring and Pickles happy in Chemistry. He told Rockzo, though Rockzo didn't give a fuck, too preoccupied with his new girlfriend, Emmy, that chick with the periwinkle puffballs in her hair that Pickles had tried to set Toki up with and had been continuously eying Toki until a few weeks ago. Toki found his day at school much more tolerable, so much that he paid attention in class. He asked Pickles for his phone back at lunch and Pickles gave it to him from the pocket he'd been keeping it in his backpack. Toki snuck off from the rest of his friends, going to a more secluded spot in the school outside the cafeteria, sat on the ground and called Skwisgaar.

"Tokis?" Skwisgaar asked, hesitant, when he picked up.

"Yeah!" Toki was grinning, had been grinning all day. "Guess whats?"

"Whats?" Skwisgaar asked, hesitation still present in his voice. Toki imagined him pursing his lips, popping a single eyebrow, and put a hand over his mouth to suppress a giggle.

"Gots ungrounded! Can goes to the show tomorrows. And you cans start coming back over in de nights. Amns't thats great?"

"Holy shits, Toki," Skwisgaar said, and Toki swore he could hear the smile in his voice. "Dat's…dat's pretty goods, actuallskies. I's come over tonight, ja? We's pick you up tomorrow, too, since you's our groupie or roadie or whatsever now. I've—de shows amsn't the same withsout yous dere to sucks me off and stuffs."

"I knows, I knows," Toki said. He lowered his legs to the ground and crossed his ankles, stretched, bathing in a wave of relief washing over him. "I misses yous so much, you doesn't even knows. Yous sweater doesn't even scents like yous anymore."

"I can gives to you another one," Skwisgaar said. "Does this means our letters ams overs now?"

"I thinks so, yeah. Ams dat a problems?"

"Oh, gods no," Skwisgaar said. Toki laughed, far too relieved to feel offended.

They talked for the rest of lunch as they normally did: Skwisgaar relating his problems with Fuckface Academy and their living arrangements, Toki relating stories of his friends and school. He was careful not to mention his parents, not wanting to spoil the beautiful conversation they were having, the joy bubbling inside of him. Toki lingered on the line for a few minutes after the bell rang, in no rush to get to his next class, but forced himself to move when he realized that his parents might somehow find out he was late and yank all of this away from him once more. Skwisgaar told him he loved him, something fast and attached to the end of a sentence, certainly a slip on his part. The small weight of the phone in his pocket felt like the best thing that had ever happened to Toki.

Nathan drove him home after school, Toki no longer feeling the need to postpone his return as long as possible. He got to work on his Friday chores, stashing his phone back in the old spot inside of his pillow case and throwing a raggedy old hoodie over his school clothes before getting to work. Chores carried him until dinner, which was an ordinary occurrence, baked lutefisk and spinach soup eaten in uneasy silence. Toki retired to his room for the evening after dinner. He'd forgotten what he liked to do in his free time after so many evenings of Bible Study and ridiculous assignments so he worked on homework until it occurred to him that he could get out his drawing supplies and work on that for a bit. He tried out different models for the next thing he wanted to work on in 3D Art, a kind of complicated take on one of his favorite Norse myths. That's what he was doing, sitting on his bed with his sketchpad in his lap, when Skwisgaar knocked on the window.

Toki threw the sketchpad and pencil he'd been working with off his lap and was at the window as quickly as he could be without running, undoing the latches and slamming the window up. Skwisgaar climbed in, both hands on Toki's shoulders to steady himself, and pressed his mouth to Toki's so aggressively that before Toki knew it his back was against the wall and the window was still open, a draft floating in. That wasn't what Toki was thinking about, however, as he knotted his hands in Skwisgaar's hair and kissed him as hard as he could, smiling and pressing his body into him only to be pressed back into. They kissed until their lips were sore and then separated, their foreheads resting against each other and mouths in smiles that hadn't faded since they saw each other.

"Helloes," Skwisgaar said, quiet, and he bopped Toki on the nose, took one of his hands into his.

"Heys," Toki said back, panting, out of breath. "Missed yous." He bopped Skwisgaar on the nose back.

Skwisgaar shrugged and laughed when Toki growled and connected their lips again. He allowed Toki to push him back, getting Toki off the wall and both of them onto his bed, rolling over and being happy and stifling each other's noises with their mouths, their hands. Toki sucked Skwisgaar off, making a lame joke about being the roadie-groupie-hybrid he'd become, and Skwisgaar took Toki into his lap, wrapped a hand around his cock and whispered in his ear, "Lets me tries somethings." Toki nodded, unsure of what was about to happen but trusting nonetheless.

Skwisgaar sucked two of his fingers into his own mouth—Toki involuntarily bucked his hips—and then took his hand from Toki's dick to push the jeans and boxers he'd been wearing even farther down. Toki whined and Skwisgaar kissed him, to shut him up if nothing else, sliding the fingers of his right hand down Toki's back, Toki's shirt somewhere on the floor. He reached Toki's ass and slipped his index finger into the cleft, testing, cautious. Toki caught on and broke the kiss to gasp and shiver; Skwisgaar took his unoccupied hand and made the shushing moment before hooking a finger under Toki's chin and bringing him closer. With his other hand he slipped his index finger inside Toki, slow, tentative. Toki closed his eyes, nerves in his body on edge, the sensation weird but not unpleasant. He nodded for encouragement or approval or something and Skwisgaar curved his finger, Toki letting his knees drop to either side of Skwisgaar's thighs. Judging Toki ready Skwisgaar inserted his other finger and started properly moving them around, Toki beginning to writhe. Though he'd known that this was a thing that people did and they had to do it for some reason, he hadn't expected it to actually feel this pleasurable (even if sort of uncomfortable), and he was cumming in minutes, one of Skwisgaar's hand on his cock and the other on his ass, both of Toki's hands flat against the wall behind Skwisgaar's head, their hair tangled between their faces, Toki's eyes shut and exploding with color. He rolled to Skwisgaar's left and flopped down on the bed, jeans and boxers around his thighs and body spent. Skwisgaar laughed; Toki cracked his eyes open to see him absently smearing the cum Toki'd left on his exposed stomach around.

"Dat's gross," Toki mumbled.

Skwisgaar raised his eyebrows and looked at him. "You sures bout dat?" he asked. He brought a finger to his mouth.

Toki watched him lick Toki's own cum off his finger. "Eh," was Toki's final assessment, and then he put his face in his mattress, wanting to sleep.

Skwisgaar moved off the bed, presumably to clean himself up with one of the handkerchiefs he kept in his pocket. Toki pulled his boxers and jeans back up, though he left them unbuttoned, and fixed himself so that he was laying on his back, his head propped up against the wall. Skwisgaar came back, still shirtless, body illuminated by moonlight. The window was still open, chilling the room even further, but they didn't notice, Toki laying his head on Skwisgaar's chest when he was back in bed and hugging around his midsection.

"I missed dis," Skwisgaar said, kissing the top of Toki's head.

"'Course you says you misses de sexs stuff," Toki said.

"De dick wants whats de dick wants, Toki," Skwisgaar said, shaking his head at Toki. Toki laughed and hit Skwisgaar in the chest. Skwisgaar tugged his arms around Toki so that Toki would look at him and then, seriously, he said, "Do you ever worries abouts yous parents findingks us in heres?"

Toki shook his head. "I don't think dey actually cares," he said. He felt Skwisgaar start to trace the scars on his back. "Besides, we's quiets enough." He returned his head to Skwisgaar's chest.

"Okays," Skwisgaar said. He reached over Toki and grabbed the sheet at the edge of their feet, pulled it over their bodies, then settled back into the position. "So, de shows tomorrows. Mark and us ams goingks to picks you up if dat ams okay."

"Sure," Toki said. He'd already gotten approval from his parents and despite his fear of getting grounded again felt rebellious enough to change up his ride. "Ams excited."

"Ja. So we's goingks to gets to de place before our set, and den we's goingks to just hangs out. We tries to get Marks to buys us drinks but he won't lets us, that dildo."

"Whats a dildo indeed," Toki said. His eyes were heavy and he was far too comfortable, falling asleep as Skwisgaar started to talk at length about things Toki had heard several times before.

Skwisgaar woke him up in maybe half an hour, coming to a sitting position. Toki mirrored his action and yawned, raised his arms above his head. Skwisgaar gave him a gray hoodie with STOCKHOLM on the front in white block letters, which Toki immediately slipped over his bare chest. He went through the motions of seeing Skwisgaar out, kissing him over the window ledge, then shut the window and returned to his bed. The cold of the room hit him, fiercely and suddenly, and he curled up under his sheet, wishing he was able to sleep with a bedmate.

He woke the next day and took Skwisgaar's hoodie off, folding it on his desk, intending to wear it out later. He went through his Saturday chores line-up, took a shower and ate lunch, dressing for the day and heading outside to wait for Skwisgaar, Mark, Ritchie and George. He wore the shoes that Pickles had drawn over, the mandala on the right toe and angel wings on the left one, and spent his time waiting by moving his feet around and admiring Pickles's handiwork. Mark pulled up in his van and Toki slid inside, sitting in the middle row of seats with Skwisgaar, George behind them and Ritchie in the passenger seat.

"This is so not a regular thing," Mark grumbled in the front seat. Toki smiled at Skwisgaar, fighting the urge to laugh.

Toki lived eighty avenues ahead of downtown and the drive was lengthy. Skwisgaar and Toki passed the time by playing a long, long game of paper-rock-scissors that Toki kept winning and Skwisgaar kept attempting to win and talking with George over the seats. Mark drove without music, which was weird to Toki, the sound of the road and their voices too loud without it. Ritchie seemed to be dozing, his head dropped at an uncomfortable angle. The entire drive a sense of euphoria swelled in Toki, a mix of joy, anticipation, excitement and relief, strong and real. If his grounding had been a return to Norway this time in the car was equivalent of the move to America, of meeting Nathan, Pickles and Murderface. On some logical level Toki knew this wasn't final, that his parents weren't going to forget about him and stop punishing him just because they'd lifted this particular one, but he pushed those thoughts away and chose to live in the moment. And the moment, his fist knocking on top of Skwisgaar and fingers splaying into scissors that beats Skwisgaar's paper, was good.

A little over fifteen minutes after leaving Toki's house, Mark parked in the parking lot closest to a stage capping the end of their main avenue, blocking off entrance from the street on the south end. The band currently playing was something lighter and happier than Fuckface Academy, folksy, making use of plucky string instruments and their singer's pleasant vocals, and Toki dragged Skwisgaar over to listen to them, not before Mark reminded them not to drink or get high before the show. Skwisgaar rolled his eyes at the both of them but allowed Toki to drag him over to the stage and presumably obeyed Mark as he failed to break out a bottle, a joint, a needle, some pills or anything else.

"I gets you back and you makes me listen to dis crappy music," Skwisgaar groaned, slapping both his hands over his ears and propping his back up against metal gates to the right of the stage. "De fucks I likes you for?"

Toki punched him in the side, pried one of his hands from his ears and stood beside Skwisgaar with his back against the metal gate as well. The recent lashings had healed enough that it didn't hurt, which he wasn't expecting, and made the day all the better. He laced his fingers through Skwisgaar's and smiled at him; Skwisgaar rolled his eyes again but bent to kiss Toki, small and swift, his hair brushing against Toki's face.

They hung out there for a while until somebody came around and told them they shouldn't be so close to the stage. At one point Murderface showed up alongside Dick, who went to find Mark while Murderface hung out with Toki and Skwisgaar outside a bridal boutique among huge paintings of floral landscapes, that band still playing and people passing through in the background. "Art isch scho gay," Murderface declared, crossing with his arms over his chest.

Toki leaned up to Skwisgaar and whispered watches dis in his ear before addressing Murderface. "So's yous," he said, plain-faced. Murderface grew red and threw out words of denial while Skwisgaar and Toki laughed away at him. Understandably, Murderface left them after that.

Nathan and Pickles passed by soon after, carrying water bottles of what Toki assumed to be vodka as they sometimes did while out in public. Pickles had his dreads in a bun behind his head and dangling clip-on earrings that ran the length of his neck and reminded Toki to check if Skwisgaar was wearing any. He was, each hole filled, a black triangle and white bulb in both ears. Pickles was obviously quite drunk, shooting a lopsided smile and tipping his water bottle at the both of the after he took a swig, liquid dribbling down its length. Nathan shrugged by means of explanation and the two of them moved on. Toki watched Pickles make Nathan stop outside a bunch of art pertaining to marine life, then turned back to Skwisgaar.

"You thinks Mark wants yous back yet?" Toki asked. The band had been playing for nearly half an hour, and despite Toki's first impression he was finding their music to be repetitive and brainless and not in a good way. He was ready for something heavier, something he could feel in his chest, and Fuckface Academy was closer to that, if not quite there.

Skwisgaar shrugged. "I thinks he'd comes to gets us, ja? You wants to head backs anyway? Dis music really sucks." Skwisgaar grimaced at the people onstage as if they had personally offended him with their music, which knowing Skwisgaar, they probably had.

"Yeah, okay," Toki said. Skwisgaar linked their fingers together and they walked off from their spot in front of the bridal boutique. They wandered past another pair of men holding hands and attracted no stares, which was sort of cool. They met Mark halfway between where they were and where he was, as Mark had been on his way to get them, and went back to the van, Mark running a hand through his hair to fix his fringe and not talking. Something in his body language was off-putting, tense, his back rigid and steps small.

"Set up, roadie and George," Ritchie said as soon as they came into earshot. He was smoking a joint despite Mark's insistence that they not do that and sitting on the ground beside the van, both his shoes and shirt shed and beside him. He tipped his head back and breathed out a cloud of smoke in the most obnoxious way Toki could think of.

"Yeah," Mark said. He started talking to Dick, whom Toki noticed was standing off to the side, his fingers still working at fixing his fringe. Toki wasn't really getting that—as far as he could tell it looked fine.

Toki did as he was told. Skwisgaar walked with them back and forth to the stage as they set up but refused to help, saying that he didn't want to injure his precious fingers. "For the music or for Toki?" George asked, looking proud of himself when Skwisgaar and Toki both laughed. It had warmed up and Toki was almost hot inside of Skwisgaar's hoodie. Nobody had noticed that he was wearing it yet, though that wasn't surprising considering his company. When he finished setting up he pecked Skwisgaar on the lips and exited the stage, taking his position in the crowd in front. The rest of the band climbed on and Mark took the microphone, launching into one of his usual pre-show tirades, and after a few minutes they began to play.

Pride entered Toki's bloodstream fast as a drug when he heard the music. He felt the typical impulse to grab the nearest person and tell them about how he was dating the lead guitarist, instead expressing his excitement through whooping and jumping. He wasn't the only one, a decent flock appearing to listen to Fuckface Academy. They were at the awkward stage in their small music career where they were on the verge of becoming well-known but were too far off to play covers and instead they went through a track list of songs Toki had heard before: Ex-Knife, Bite Me Baby, Superhuman, Addled Intercourse and Illegal, Trusty, Damn. They all sounded better and more professional and by then Toki knew the words, mouthing along with them, watching Mark pivot himself over the stage while the other guys remained stationary.

They played for about forty-five minutes, ending their set with the mildly offensive Fuck Love, Let's Fuck, Skwisgaar smirking at Toki and Toki scrunching his nose back. Murderface, Nathan, Pickles and Dick found Toki in the crowd and congregated towards him. Nathan and Pickles were good and drunk, the vodka in their water bottles gone, and Pickles had added a familiar-looking kitty ears headband to his ensemble. Nathan was the only person to boo at the end of Fuckface Academy's set, shrugging and looking unapologetic when everybody but Murderface (who gave a slight nod of agreement) looked at him.

Toki helped George to pack up without being asked to, though Mark looked at him and opened his mouth like he was going to say something before he saw Toki scooping an amp into his arms. They did so in relative silence, George's face glistening with sweat, but George thanked him when Toki complimented the gig, sighed at random intervals, shook or nodded his head at whatever comments Toki proffered him. He took the bass drum from the stage, the sloppy anarchy A in need of being repainted, and dumped it in the back of the van alongside the cymbal George was carrying. George smacked his hands together and smoothed his shirt, looked at Toki. "You went missing for a while," he said, face expressionless.

"Yeahs," Toki said. He shut one of the doors to the van. He left the word hanging there, not wanting to get into the subject, not sure what to say.

"Skwisgaar was sort of a wreck," George said. He said it passively, like he would give the time, but Toki's pulse quickened. "Long story short Mark got, like, all pissed at me, so try not to disappear, okay?" George rolled his eyes and pulled a lighter and a joint from his cargo shorts, offered them both to Toki. Toki shook his head, wanting to get back to Skwisgaar as soon as possible. "Suit yourself. I'd say that you and Skwisgaar and I should hang, but Mark's a Nazi, you know."

"Literallies?" Toki's eyes went wide.

"Oh my God, no, not literally." George bought the back of his hand that was holding the lighter to his mouth and laughed into it, then lit the joint, staring out into the avenue.

"Wells, I'ms gonna go find Skwisgaar. Sees you." George nodded and continued to stare out into the avenue, more zoning out than watching the next band set up.

Toki retrieved Skwisgaar from the conversation he was having with Dick, Mark and Ritchie, Skwisgaar giving Toki a look of reprieve and gratitude. He and Skwisgaar wandered away from both groups then, leaving Toki's friends and Fuckface Academy to sort themselves out. They walked through all of the art, mostly making fun of it but sometimes admitting that something was sort of cool, holding hands and generally not giving any fucks. They visited the sex shop that Skwisgaar took Toki to on that first date and laughed about it, messing around with the toys and causing a ruckus. The same cashier chick was working and seemed to recognize them, recommending a particular brand of lube with a sarcastic bite to her voice. They didn't buy anything and returned to the art walk, going through it once more before realizing that they'd lost their friends and their rides, the sun starting to sink in the sky and the temperature along with it.

"Guesses we's stuck heres forsever," Toki said, and it was a lame joke that elicited an appropriate look of disgust from Skwisgaar, but it got the point across.


	12. The Sappiest Valentine's Day Ever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo boy, this feels good. After three months, I'm back! I'm going to try to return to my monthly update schedule, I really want to finish this story by the end of this year. This chapter is short, and sort of mostly filler fluff, and some parts are better than others, but what can you do. Happy Valentine's Day, everybody.

To Toki, Valentine's Day had been, since he came to America, a day to celebrate his friendships. His friends were never as keen as him, brushing him aside, calling him gay and refusing to participate, but that never stopped him from hand making cards and picking out little individual trinkets that they would all enjoy. This year, though, was obviously different, because now Toki had an actual valentine in Skwisgaar. There were expectations for what they would and should do, and Toki wanted to indulge in them.

But like Toki's friends before him, Skwisgaar wasn't too keen on the idea. They were laying on their backs in the grass of one the parks downtown, smoking idly and talking with their hands, skies as overcast as their eyes. Nathan, Murderface, Pickles and Dick were playing (and failing at playing) a game of Frisbee, running around the park and shouting and laughing at each other. It was a chilly Wednesday afternoon, Toki having come down there after school instead of going home with the excuse of working on a Chem lab with Nathan and Pickles. His and Skwisgaar's conversation had turned to Valentine's Day, of course, because the holiday was that weekend, and Toki moved his head to see Skwisgaar scowling as their fingers played together between them, dancing and stroking.

"It ams de sappies holidays for de saps," he said, scoffing. "If you wants to celebrates it, dat's fine, but we ams not goingks to be sappies saps."

"Saps ams for trees," Toki said, giggling. He was a little high, a joint burning between the fingers of his other hand, with which he was also picking at grass. Everything tinged gray and the sounds of his friends nipping at him, he felt like the world was a blanket he had pulled over himself and Skwisgaar, trapping him.

"Wells, dinks of a better words, den," Skwisgaar was saying, and he was moving their joined hands up towards Toki's face, stroking at the ridge of his jaw like he'd forgotten Toki's hand came along with his. "We amns't goingks to be sappies," he said again, and Toki nodded, but his attention had shifted to Skwisgaar's fingers on his face, the intensity of his high zoning in on that particular sensation.

Toki snuffed the joint out and rolled over on top of Skwisgaar, sitting on his thighs in a manner that wasn't really sexual. Skwisgaar raised his eyebrows, skeptical, and Toki put a finger to his mouth. Skwisgaar dropped his hand from Toki's face and Toki took the one of the strands of hair Skwisgaar wore over his shoulders in his own hands, starting to braid the strands.

"De hells you doingks," Skwisgaar said, his flat.

"Braidin's you's hair," Toki said, an implicit  _duhs_ hanging off the edge of the sentence. "Mines mother does dis for me when we goes to de church, I dinks I can does it from memory." And he could, separating it into three equal strands and crossing them over each other.

"Tokis," Skwisgaar said, and he pushed Toki's hand away and sat up, forcing Toki to move down from his thighs to his calves. That was much more uncomfortable, and Toki pouted as Skwisgaar continued, "Dis ams de veries definitions of sappies."

"Is it ams goin' to be dere if I looks it up in de dick-missionary?" Toki asked, crossing his arms over his chest. Skwisgaar started laughing, so hard that Toki felt it vibrate into his ass as he sat on Skwisgaar's calves, falling backwards and throwing his hands up. His hair, half-braided over his left shoulder, unraveled.

"I's gives you de dick-missionary," Skwisgaar said, and Toki cocked his head.

"Dat's not a good Valentines present," Toki pouted. He moved off of Skwisgaar's legs, sat Indian-style beside him and resumed picking at the grass.

"It ams was a—whatsever, Toki," Skwisgaar said, rolling onto his stomach and propping his chin in his hands. "We has de dates on Friday, ja? I picks you up from school, we does de stuff."

"What's de stuff?" Toki narrowed his eyes at Skwisgaar, looking at the way the sunlight hit his hair, made it a lighter color. Toki wanted to run his fingers through it, so he did, twisting strands around his thumbs and scraping at Skwisgaar's scalp. Skwisgaar hissed at first, which faded into a sort of contented mewl, his limbs twitching.

"It ams—de stuffs, Toki," Skwisgaar said, nudging his head into Toki's touch. He sounded distracted. "You's finds out laters. Wants to makes out?"

"Dere it ams," Toki said, his face splitting into a smile. Skwisgaar looked at him, his head tilted and the light catching his eyelashes in a way that made them visible, this little shit-eating grin across his lips and the network of his fingers forming a mesh against his face that was driving Toki mad. He straightened up and took Toki by the hand. They glanced over their shoulders at their friends, still tangled up in their ridiculous game of Frisbee, laughed and walked off.

They found a nice secluded alleyway, a corner formed by three conjoined buildings on a stashed away brick path, and they melted their sides together against the wall of some high-end boutique, mouths connected. Lazy, slow, hazy, eyelashes against cheeks, teeth against teeth, fingers locked between their bodies. Every second a small infinity. Dull white noise of squawking birds, tires on the road and carried conversations that Toki felt attuned to. Colors on the back of his eyelids. He  _loved_ making out while stoned, loved the way it slowed time down and dulled some things while heightening others, loved the way Skwisgaar's hair brushed against his face and he bunched the hem of Skwisgaar's shirt in his hands.

They returned to the park some time later with swollen mouths and hooked pinkies, finding Nathan, Pickles, Murderface and Dick slumped against each other in a sweaty mess, skin glistening in the dull winter sun, hair sticking to foreheads and frizzing out of control with chests heaving and faces ruddy. They walked over to them and kicked at their shins, drawing their attention.

"Where have you douchebags been?" Pickles asked, rolling his eyes up. His back was against Nathan's, supporting each other, sitting adjacent to Murderface. His dreads were out of place, the strap of his ghastly tie-dye tank top falling off his shoulder.

"In an alleys," Toki said, shrugging a shoulder, while Skwisgaar said, "Makin's out," and Murderface dry-heaved, though that could also be attributed to his recent physical activity.

"That's nice," Nathan mumbled, heavy eyelids drooping. He seemed close to sleep, chin dropped to chest.

"Ams we gonna's leave or stays here?" Toki asked, interlacing the rest of his fingers with Skwisgaar's and swinging their hands between them.

"What time is it?" Nathan dragged his eyes up to meet Toki, as if the effort pained him.

Toki pulled his cell phone out of his pocket with the hand that wasn't holding Skwisgaar's, thumbing a button on the side that caused the small screen on the front to light up. "Four-thirties," he said, sliding the phone back into his pocket. He looked up at the sky; storm clouds were gathering ahead, everything damp and gray. "Ams gonna storm, we should leaves," he said.

"Yeah, yeah, I guess so, alright." Nathan pushed himself off the ground, causing Pickles to fall backwards and burst into laughter. Murderface and Dick rose as well, shaking their limbs and twisting their bodies, before announcing their departure and walking off in the opposite direction Nathan, Pickles, and Skwisgaar had come from.

"Cans I gets a rides home?" Skwisgaar asked. Nathan nodded, pulling his keys from his pocket and striding away. Skwisgaar, Toki, and Pickles followed suit.

Thunder crackled overhead and Toki jumped. He wasn't a fan of storms—they brought him back to the hole in the ground in Norway. Storms there had been the absolute worst; rain would filter through the overhead gate and fill the hole, and on those days he almost wished to be chained up, just to escape the pooling water and get out of the way of the rain. Of course, he was never so lucky, and every time it stormed and his father had the slightest excuse he would toss him by the scruff of his neck towards the hole. Toki shuddered once, remembering that, and as if he had unlocked a gate it all came rushing towards him. He started to shiver as thunder popped again and rain began to fall.

Skwisgaar, who had been talking about something Ritchie had done that day that had pissed him off, stopped walking. They were only ten feet or so from where Nathan had parked, Nathan and Pickles walking a few steps ahead of them, their gaits having increased when it had started to rain. But Skwisgaar put a hand on Toki's shoulder, looked at him, eyes narrowed. "Toki, ams you okay? You's shaking a lot but it amsn't that cold."

"Ams fines," Toki said, or at least meant to say, because what he ended up doing was constructing a ghastly grin that jerked as he pushed the  _A_ sound between his teeth. He blinked raindrops out of his eyelashes and Skwisgaar put a finger to his lips, pulling them shut and shushing him.

"Comes on, let's gets you back," Skwisgaar said, rubbing Toki's shoulder and then running a hand down to take his and lead him into the truck.

"'s wrong with Toki?" Pickles asked from the front seat when they slid into place, Skwisgaar doing Toki's seatbelt for him. Toki felt ridiculous, incapacitated, on some level, but on every other level was feeling more like a skinny seven-year-old shaking in a Norwegian summer storm.

"Ams nothing," Skwisgaar said, putting on a smile. "He ams will be fine." He patted Toki's leg and settled back into his seat.

"Okay," Pickles said, dubious, but a shiver ran through him and he whipped around to place his hands over the air conditioning vents, from which warm air filtered through. Nathan put the truck in gear and took off, and the familiar rumbling sound of the engine, rushing sensation of the tires on the road and Skwisgaar's hand wrapped around his knee was helping Toki a bit, grounding him. Still his vision flickered in and out, split between that of a child's and that of now, and he slammed his eyes shut, put his fingers to his temple.

"Toki." Skwisgaar's voice was near his ear, close enough that he could feel the hot fluttering of breath on the back of his neck, and Toki twitched. "Toki, ams you here?"

Toki cracked his eyes and shook his head. He put a hand over Skwisgaar's, on his knee, and squeezed it. Thunder rumbled, so loud and so close it was like it was knocking on the roof of the truck, and Toki flinched. Skwisgaar layered his other hand over Toki's on his knee, stroking his fingers, and Toki focused on that point of contact. His was is racing, fast as the rain coming down, and the knowledge that Skwisgaar was soon to leave wasn't helping. Panic burst in his chest, a firework, when Nathan stopped the truck outside of Skwisgaar's apartment. Skwisgaar pressed a kiss to Toki's cheek, uncharacteristically chaste, and gave a final squeeze of his hand before slipping them away and departing from the truck. Nathan and Pickles shouted goodbyes that Toki didn't hear, and the truck started up again, presumably to take Toki home. It was still raining, even harder, the world gray and Toki's vision black, swimming with the memories of Norway.

Three minutes later he felt the twinge of his phone in his pocket and he pulled it out.  _Du är okej_.

It was still storming by the time they got to Toki's house. Nathan and Pickles hadn't noticed his silence—Pickles was watching the rain from the window, Nathan focused on driving in the inclement weather. Toki let himself out with a whimper of a goodbye and trudged to his front door, rain pummeling him. He didn't see his father's car, which he was glad for, and he headed to the downstairs bathroom to take a shower without seeing his mother. He realized, stripping naked in the bathroom, how cold he was, and when he looked in the mirror he saw his eyes were bloodshot, though he  _had_  just been lighting up. He turned the shower the hottest it would go and slid his body under the stream of water. Pain flowered across his back, but it was the good type of pain, the type of pain that pulled the wool down from his eyes and brought him back.

After his shower he went about his Wednesday chores, feeling a little shakier than usual but otherwise alright. It had stopped raining, the sun back in the sky, and he texted Skwisgaar back a  _thanks_ before getting started on his chores. The routine was soothing, dinner was a mild affair, and by the time he tucked himself into bed with the book he was supposed to be reading for English he felt recovered, exhausted. He read until his eyes gave out and he rolled over on his side, tucking his knees up to his abdomen and falling asleep. He dreamt that night, dreamt he was flying on a magic carpet with all of his friends, their hair billowing and their voices boisterous, happy.

Thursday passed by slowly and painfully, Toki alight with anticipation for Friday. That afternoon, he perfected Skwisgaar's gift—another highly personalized mixtape with aid from Pickles, two drawings of them, and nudes, also with the aid of Pickles. He'd debated the last part for a while, but eventually settled on it being a good idea, using Pickles's brother's old Polaroid and that free Monday afternoon at Nathan's to take them, utilizing the mirror in the upstairs bathroom. It was a strange experience, and hiding the pictures in his pillowcase almost physically burned him while he slept, but it was kitschy and unique enough that Skwisgaar would probably like it on both an ironic and genuine level. Hopefully. He hid the pictures inside a manmade card in an envelope that he wrote  _for later_ on, folding the drawings and slipping them inside it as well. Friday morning he wore his shorts with the huge pockets and tucked the gifts inside.

Throughout Friday he was antsy, jiggling his leg and slapping beats against his thigh, fiddling with his pencil. The flowers, balloons, stuffed animals and chocolates that dotted his school, evidence of a well-celebrated Valentine's Day, didn't help. In Chemistry, his focus on the test they were taking was nonexistent, and he spent a handful of minutes drawing the face of a cat on the back of his hand after seeing the word  _cation_ before he realized what he was doing. In English, he was too entangled in his own thoughts to prevent Murderface from pestering the girls in front of him; Murderface ended up with the dredges of an iced coffee in his face and down his shirt after one too many innuendos, which did catch Toki's attention, and he laughed heartily, recounting the story to Pickles in Math.

At lunch he called Skwisgaar to finalize their plans, which climaxed with him in the handicapped stall of the scantly used boys' bathroom in the corner of the second floor of the building his art class was in, his hands down his shorts and phone pinched between his shoulder and ear. Phone sex wasn't new, but in  _school_ it was new, and Skwisgaar was describing the blowjob he intended to give later in such painstaking, second-by-second detail. Toki bit the inside of his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood when he came, which he sucked into his throat, the explosion of taste on his tongue enough to make his head fly back and hit the wall behind him and his phone fly forward, escaping underneath the wall of the stall. He heard the static of Skwisgaar's voice, panicked, and gave himself a few seconds before cleaning himself up, flushing all evidence down the toilet and exiting the stall. He bent to collect his phone as he went to hover by the sinks and look at himself in the mirror.

"De fucks, Toki," Skwisgaar was saying, and he sounded breathless. "What happens?"

"Oh, you knows," Toki said. He pulled his bottom lip down and inspected the sore, pressed his finger against it to quell the bleeding. "Came, bites my lip, just lost my phone in de struggles, I guess."

Skwisgaar groaned from the other end and Toki grinned, imagining him somewhere in Fuckface Academy's apartment—which he had yet to visit and envisioned as some sort of dark cave of delinquency and astonishment, like Dick's but more successful in what Dick was trying to do—with his long cock in his long fingers, filthy. He grabbed a paper towel to press against his lip while he listened to Skwisgaar crash and climb out of the crash, his breath coming in ragged spurts and then evening, his face probably falling back to its natural, smug, slightly disgusted arrangement.

"Should does dat more oftens," Skwisgaar was saying, blissed. "Good thing to does before de dates, you knows? Keeps de erections around for longer times when doing de other stuff."

Toki shrugged, remembered he was on the phone, and then made the vocal equivalent of a shrug, a humming low in his throat. He blotted the paper towel to his lip a few more times and threw it away, leaving the bathroom and working his way back to the cafeteria. "High school ams so lame," he bemoaned into the phone. "Keepin's me all lockeds up and aways from what I really want to does."

"Likes me?" Toki could hear the rise of an eyebrow in Skwisgaar's voice.

"Likes you," he said, adding an annoyed inflection on  _you_ , "but, likes, other stuffs too, you knows. What use I got's for Chem or English or whatsever? Nones! I wants to…I doesn't know, does shit dat isn't dis."

"I understands," Skwisgaar said. "I was you, backs in Sweden. What's de English word? Restlists?"

"Restless," Toki said. He pushed the doors to the building open and walked into the sun. Outside it was disgusting, cold and damp and humid, the sky gray and looking ready to leak at any moment. "Ams reallies gross outside, Skwisgaar. Ams we doin' anything dat means for us to be outsides?"

"Noes," Skwisgaar said, "alls ams inside. Dat's all I'm goingks to tells you, stops asking."

"Sorries," Toki whined into the phone, sidestepping a leftover puddle as he walked back to the main building. "Don'ts like surprises, Skwisgaars."

"You'll likes dis one," Skwisgaar said, shushed and hurried, and when Toki heard something slam and Mark shouting about lazy rehearsal schedules and George  _seriously needing to stop smoking his nasty-ass pot in the apartment all the goddamned time_ he understood why. "Gots to go, sorries, little Tokis," and the line went dead.

Toki slid his phone back into his pocket and whistled the rest of the way to the cafeteria, a song he'd put on Skwisgaar's mixtape. When he returned to his friends Nathan was talking about the trip he'd been wanting to take during Spring Break forever, spending the majority of the week on the beach in Daytona.

"Oh," Pickles said, turning his head to him. "Is that, like, a thing now? Your parents say yes?"

"I think, yeah," Nathan said, lifting a chip to his mouth. "Since I can, like, fuckin' drive, now. I mean, I could last year, but they weren't comfortable with it or some shit. They're comfortable now. But, like, between Knubbler, Charles, and me, that's enough to get us all out there, right? Can Abigail drive? I don't even fuckin' know."

"Abigail can drive, yeah," Pickles said. "She just has Charles whipped."

"Now, Picklesch," Murderface said, with that tone of voice he always used when he thought he was smarter than somebody, leaning into the conversation. "That isch a dischguschting, schexischt thing to say. Abigail isch a schtrong, independent—"

"If the next words out of your goddamned hypocrite mouth are  _black woman_ , so help me God, I  _will_  kill you with this plastic fork." He jabbed it in Murderface's direction for effect, and his eyes widened when he noticed Toki. "Hey, Toki! What do you think of Daytona?"

"Sounds good," he said, and he screwed his face up in worried confusion, trying to keep the sadness away. "Whats about mines parents?"

"Leave that to mine," Nathan said, and he waved his hand. "We'll say we're going on, like, a fucking church retreat, or something." That garnered laughter from Pickles; Murderface was huffing from Pickles's debasing of him and Toki just didn't find it funny. "Anyway—yeah, I think it's gonna happen. We gotta look at hotels and shit and make reservations. I'll talk to my parents about it."

"Cool, cool, cool," Pickles said. He stood up from the table. "I'm gonna go outside and smoke before the bell rings, care to join me?" The group nodded, and Toki once more left the cafeteria, this time to walk around to the student drop-off and sit on the cement as Nathan and Murderface both laid across benches and Pickles walked around, holding one of his elbows in his hands and smoking with the other. Toki took the time to touch up the cat on the back of his hand, pulling markers from his backpack and giving himself a crude approximation of a tattoo.

"What does you think?" he asked when Pickles paced back towards him, brandishing the back of his hand in his direction.

Pickles appraised it and nodded. "Remind me and I'll take you to get a tat for your eighteenth birthday," he said, and the combination of approval and a promise of future friendship and joy made Toki's face break into a grin.

The bell rang shortly afterwards and they split to their respective classes, Toki trudging towards German. There, he read and translated the first few pages of a dull short story he could care less about, going through the motions of switching languages and instead thinking about later, about what Skwisgaar might have planned. His mind went to sex, of course, which was something they had only mentioned in passing, in jokes, but was the next logical step. Toki didn't know to feel about that, only knew that he would kill Skwisgaar if he tried to do that on  _Valentine's Day_ , as it would be the pinnacle of the sap that Skwisgaar was trying to avoid.

He and his friends regrouped in History, where Toki bullshitted an essay about the international effects of the Great Depression, and then Toki moved on to 2D Art, where they were doing self-portraits. Toki spent the majority of the class staring into the mirror, trying to figure out how to replicate the asymmetry of his face, wondering why nobody had told him how askew his one eye was. When the bell rang he jumped up from the table, nearly knocking into the mirror and almost breaking it. He ignored the glaring from his teacher, thanked his good luck, and rushed from the room.

He went to the front of school, where he was to hang out with Nathan, Pickles and Murderface as he waited for Skwisgaar. They spread themselves on the side of the wide concrete steps, Toki jiggling his leg again. He remembered, seeing his friends like that, that he had gifts for them, and he pulled the handmade valentines with chocolate attached from his backpack to pass out.

"Thisch isch sho gay," Murderface said.

"You're just so insufferable today, William," Pickles said, narrowing his eyes at him and unwrapping one of his chocolates. He turned his attention towards Toki, smiled at him. "Thanks, Toki. I appreciate it." Pickles had been the one that bought the chocolates for Toki, and his surprise was clearly feigned, but Toki smiled back anyway.

"Valentine's Day fucking sucks, man," was Nathan's contribution, though he continued to unwrap the chocolates and plop them in his mouth one-by-one. "Fucking height of consumerism and stupid-ass chick romance shit. Fuck it all."

"Amen," Murderface said, and Toki twitched at the religious reference, but his smile didn't falter.

"You's guys just bitters 'cause you doesn't has de significant others," Toki said, mustering up all the cheer he could. He stole a chocolate from Pickles's pile and took it for himself, figuring Pickles would be the least likely to protest.

"Not really," Nathan said, mumbling through a mouthful of candy. "Fuck girls, like, I have my hand, who needs them? Just cause a bunch of trouble and shit."

Pickles nodded, and Toki's mind went back to the Abigail fiasco of a few months ago. He wondered if that's what they were thinking of, too; Murderface was ignorant, chewing his chocolate and staring off towards the side, at a girl holding a large stuffed bear with a balloon tied around her wrist.

A few more minutes of lounging on the steps and Skwisgaar materialized, looking as glorious as ever. Toki leapt up and ran to him, threw his arms around his neck and smashed their lips together. In a sick sort of way he hoped everybody outside the school was looking at them, seeing Toki with his amazing boyfriend and being jealous of him. They separated, and Skwisgaar's hands settled on Toki's hips, resting there.

"You's happies today," Skwisgaar said. He pecked Toki's lips again.

"Ams Valentime's Day, of course ams happy," Toki said. "What's we gonnas do, huh? I's been waiting all weeks."

"Ams been like, two days, Toki," Skwisgaar said. He rolled his eyes, but continued. "Ja, ja, we go does de stuff now. Comes wit me."

"Lets me go says goodbyes to mines friends," Toki said, and Skwisgaar nodded. He waved at Nathan, Pickles, and Murderface on the steps, who all waved back. Toki returned to them and went to grab his backpack, then shook his head. "Can yous looks after it?" he said, gesturing to the thing.

Pickles nodded. "Be safe, use a condom," he said, sniggering into his hand, and Toki rolled his eyes.

He almost skipped back to Skwisgaar, but some socially conscious part of him pulled him back from doing so. When he arrived at Skwisgaar's side he slipped his hand into his and they took off, towards the location of the nearest bus stop. Toki had a flash of déjà vu, reminded of the last time they did this, when he had skipped school and had been punished so severely. He felt the familiar drainage of negative emotions through his body, infiltrating his system like a bad trip, but he shook his head and plastered a grin to his face, told himself not to let that ruin Valentine's Day.

"Tokis, ams you okays? You's quiet," Skwisgaar said, squeezing Toki's hand as they waited for the crosswalk at the intersection.

"Of course ams fine," Toki said. "Just thinkin's bout de last time we did dis."

"Oh, ja, right." The crosswalk changed and they started walking with no cautious glance beforehand. Little things like that made Toki feel dangerous, alive. "Goods memory. Wells, dis will be evens better."

"Ams holdin' you to dat," Toki said, glancing at Skwisgaar. A swell of emotions overcame him, pushing out any negativity he might have felt before—affection, pride, and love, definitely love, and they were trying so hard not to be sappy but Toki really, really wanted to tell him he loved him, walking across this crosswalk with the rush of cars on concrete filling their ears, a fierce February wind tossing their hair about their faces, a nip to the air that he didn't feel because of the smile on his face, the hand in his own. He restrained himself, for Skwisgaar's benefit, because they  _weren't_ going to be  _that_ couple, and because Toki cared for Skwisgaar. Instead, he said, "if it ams stupids, I'll dumps you."

Skwisgaar snorted. "Ja,  _you's_ goingks to be de one dat dumps  _me_. Dat sounds possible," he said. He conquered the rest of the crosswalk in one long, arrogant step, extending his legs to their full length and yanking Toki along, and even that motion made Toki's chest constrict.

On the sidewalk, Toki shrugged. "You never knows," he said. "We's just gonna has to waits and sees about de dates."

Skwisgaar made a noncommittal hand motion, and they headed to the bus stop. Skwisgaar wrapped his hands around Toki's lower back, shielding him from the wind, and layered their heads over each other. And Toki was trying to fight it, he was, but it was Valentine's Day, and he was in love, and it was hard not to feel that, feel it from the soles of his feet to the core of his soul, and he worked his hand between their bodies, pressed it against Skwisgaar's chest. Listened to his heartbeat. Thought,  _this beats for me_.

The bus came shortly and they boarded it, sitting beside each other in a row toward the back, their shoulders pressing into each other. Skwisgaar slipped into a spiel about Fuckface Academy, as usual: "It just dat Marks and Ritchies ams so…dey's both stricts, but in differ-rents ways, like Marks ams Stalin and Ritchie ams Hitler. And dey both has de ideas for de bands and George and me, we don'ts likes eithers of dem, but dey keep making dese rules and it ams suckingks."

"Sorries," Toki said. He put a hand on Skwisgaar's knee and squeezed.

"It gets worse de more betters and famousers we gets," Skwisgaar said. He put his head back on the seat, closed his eyes, his Adam's apple prominent and volleying when he spoke once more. "Honestlies, Toki—I dink we mights does de break up, soon, maybes."

"Maybe dat'd be for de better, doe," Toki said. Skwisgaar cracked an eye open, then sat up for himself. "If everybodys makes everybodys unhappies, and you can'ts fix it—you's tried to fix it, right?"

"We's trieds. Wells, Dick, he ams tryingks reallies hard but it just amns't workingks." Skwisgaar said this all mournfully, staring out the bus window like some sort of stereotype, watching the bleak urban landscape pass him by. Toki hurt for him, he did.

"Just waits and sees," Toki said.

"I hates dat." Skwisgaar looked back at him. Toki sighed, leaned forward to press his lips against his in a gentle kiss. When he leaned back, some of the lines had disappeared from Skwisgaar's face and he was no longer frowning, though his eyebrows remained drawn together. "Thanks, Toki," he said, a bit teasingly, poking Toki's side.

Skwisgaar notified him that they were at their stop outside of a shopping center containing a grocery store, a few fast food restaurants, a few outlets, a low-end department store and a pet shop. They descended the steps and Toki looked towards Skwisgaar, hopeful, because he was  _pretty_ sure Skwisgaar had enough class not to take Toki bargain shopping or to McDonald's for Valentine's Day, and Skwisgaar nodded, walking in the direction of the pet shop.

"Ja, we ams goingks to looks at de fishes and de cats and shit," Skwisgaar said, and he was trying to keep the smile out of his voice but Toki heard it anyway, his own growing ridiculously large. "Still wants to dumps me?"

"Fucks no!" Toki said, clutching Skwisgaar's arm. "You ams de best boyfriends  _ever_. I loves de animals, especially de kitty cats! See, look." And he showed Skwisgaar the back of his hand, the cat drawn in ink and colored in marker, and Skwisgaar's lips quirked.

"I knows you does," Skwisgaar said. "Comes on." He held the door to the pet store open for Toki and Toki walked through.

It was marvelous. Although the front contained supplies, collars and leashes and beds and foods and toys, towards the back there were a myriad of animals you were allowed to play with, and behind that a darkly-lit aquarium showcasing the fish. Toki went into the aisle containing small rodents first, hamsters, gerbils and even a hedgehog, tapping the glass or watching them sleep in furry little piles. Skwisgaar mocked them, but it was in a loving way, using baby talk and peering into the glass with a modicum of interest. After that it was the reptiles, snakes coiled around fixtures in their cages and lizards flittering through woodchips, which didn't interest Toki as much.

"He could probablies kills a guy," Toki said, peering into the cage of a regal sort of snake, corkscrewed around itself. "I likes dat."

"What use is an unfunctionals pet?" Skwisgaar mused, nodding in agreement, and they moved on.

Next were the birds, available in several sizes and colors, the larger ones piddling around in huge pens and available for petting. Toki stroked a cockatoo, Skwisgaar in stitches from the terrible puns he insisted on making, Toki glaring at him. Toki next made his ways to the bunnies in their own pen, scooping a short-haired but long-eared gray one into his arms like a newborn baby.

"I wants you," Toki told the bunny, his eyebrows drawn up. He looked at Skwisgaar, then, eyes wide, as earnest and expectant as he could make himself appear to be.

"Ams not buyingks yous a rabbit and keepingks it in mines apartscent, Marks wills kills me." Skwisgaar crinkled his nose at the thing.

"Touches it," Toki said. He rearranged his arms with the rabbit inside so he could reach out to Skwisgaar and nudge the back of the hand. "Ams not gonna bite."

Skwisgaar deepened his scowl and did not touch it, so Toki grabbed Skwisgaar's hand and walked forward, forcing him to pet the rabbit. Skwisgaar's features softened, then tightened again. Toki smiled, once more victorious, and drew the rabbit back to him, nuzzling his cheek against it. After a few minutes of that and a handful of strange looks he put the rabbit back, his hand lingering in the pen, maudlin. He moved to the back wall, where at one end there was an entrance to the fish area and built into the wall itself cages with glass fronts showcasing various dogs. Most people were watching two Labrador Retriever puppies wrestling, but Toki pressed his palm up against the window to a lethargic foxhound lazing on its side. The dog lifted an ear and turned his head towards Toki, and Toki melted, his knees giving out.

"Wants yous, too," he said, and he turned to Skwisgaar. "Hurries up, gets de rich with de band, buys me pets."

Skwisgaar laughed, put a hand on the small of Toki's back and leaned in to look at the foxhound as well. "Ja, rights," he said, clearly sarcastic. He tapped at the window, and the dog turned away from Skwisgaar. Skwisgaar huffed.

"De animals don'ts likes you 'cause dey knows you's mean," Toki said, half-serious, and they moved down the line of cages. Shepherds, terriers, cute little balls of fluff, they were all present, and Toki pressed his nose against the windows and cooed at all of them. They had made their way towards the portal to the fish, and so Toki stepped inside that after he finished a one-sided conversation with a group of young Beagles.

Inside the section for fish it was around fifteen degrees colder and much darker; Toki, wary of such places, curled his fingers tighter in Skwisgaar's hand. Skwisgaar squeezed back, unaware of Toki's hesitance in relation to small, dark, cold locations, but Toki trudged on. The fish were fascinating, maybe even more so than the dogs, swimming around in their tanks with their silly bulbous eyes and bodies. Toki spent time assigning names to each guppy—a tedious and time-consuming task, but one he enjoyed thoroughly—and wondered at the betta fish with their graceful fins and deep colors.

"Oh, ja, dem," Skwisgaar said, staring at an elegant pure white one swimming in a lonesome bowl, "dey's real cools. Brutals, I guess. Dey's fightingks fish, dey kills each other if you puts dem in de same bowl."

"Well, dat's lonelies," Toki said, frowning. "Couldn'ts even convince dem to be friends?"

Skwisgaar shook his head. "Ams not possible." He reached down and picked the small fishbowl up with one hand, bringing it close to his face. He checked the price. "I think Mark mights allows dis, at least."

"You's gonna buy a fish?" Toki said, screwing his face up at Skwisgaar. "Seriouslies?"

"Shuts up, Toki. Let's go looks at de kitties cats." With Toki in one hand and his soon-to-be-purchased betta fish in the other, Skwisgaar led Toki out and to the cats, who were their own cages built into the wall adjacent to that of the dogs. They'd been avoiding them, purposefully, saving the best for last. Toki's heart grew heavy, staring at all of them without any ability whatsoever to own one, all the puffy gray kittens curled around in tiny balls and the sophisticated adult cats that still came up to the glass and rubbed against Toki's palm. He felt tears pricking at his eyes, swallowed them back, and sort of forgot Skwisgaar existed until he tugged at his hand and said, "Toki, we has to go, ams gettingks late and we's not done yet."

Toki stood in line with Skwisgaar as he purchased his fish, along with a larger bowl, a bag of black rocks to put in the bottom of that bowl and some food.

"Where's we goin's now?" Toki asked. He didn't think they were going anywhere in particular if they had gained a fish as a companion, but Skwisgaar had indicated that they weren't done yet, thankfully. Toki hadn't given Skwisgaar his gifts yet, and he became aware of the weight in the deep pockets of his shorts.

"Mines apartsments," Skwisgaar said. He accepted the bag containing his purchases, cradling the fishbowl housing the betta fish in his other arm, from the cashier and they went on their way. "Ritchie and Mark ams out at some parties, I doesn't knows, I dink Mark's sister ams throwin's it, and George ams wit his goilfriend." He pushed the door to the pet stop open, the bell ringing above his head.

"George has a goilfriends?" Toki felt only mild surprise; he wasn't attracted to him in the least bit, but George was not objectively unattractive. He hadn't really seen him as the girlfriend type, was all.

"She's new," Skwisgaar said, shrugging. "I hasn't met hers. Anyways. What should we names de fish?" He glanced at the thing, which was swimming in slow circles, almost showing off his flowing white fins. Something about it reminded Toki of Skwisgaar, and hearing it referred to as  _our_ fish instead of  _my_ fish by him stirred primitive, possessive, family-making feelings in Toki.

"Whities, maybe?" Toki asked. He poked the glass of the fishbowl, but the fish was uninterested in Toki's attention.

"We can'ts fuckin's name a fish  _Whities_ ," Skwisgaar said, rolling his eyes. "Maybes somethingks reallies brutal, you know, likes Odin or—evens better, Odin's spears, you knows, 'cause it's a fightingks fish, what's dat called? Gungnir?"

"Gungnir, yeah, dat sounds right. Good names for de fish." He did look like a Gungnir, his fins shining like the glint of a spear when the light filtered through the water of his bowl and hit them. Skwisgaar and Toki watched him in a silent stupor until the bus chugged up and they boarded it. Gungnir rested in Skwisgaar's lap, both large hands curled around him, protective. Toki tried not to feel jealous of a fish.

They passed the time to Skwisgaar's apartment just talking. Skwisgaar told Toki about a guitar he'd been thinking of buying, maybe; Toki told Skwisgaar of the self-portrait they were doing in 2D art, his discovery of the asymmetry of his face. Skwisgaar looked at Toki, cocked his head. "Huh," he said, squinting. "You's eyes ams asymmetricals. Weirds."

"Weirds?" Toki asked, grimacing.

"Weirds dat I hasn't noticed befores," Skwisgaar corrected himself. "Really amns't dat bad, very subtles."

"If you says so," was Toki's skeptical answer.

They arrived at the nearest bus stop around Skwisgaar's apartment. The temperature had dropped considerably, to the point where Toki sort of felt the sting on his skin, and he was looking forward to getting inside, both for the heat and just to finally see the place. He opened the door for Skwisgaar, his arms full of his purchases, and they headed towards the elevator. The place was similar to Dick's apartment, a little nicer, no smell or peeling wallpaper but definitely with the atmosphere of destitution. Skwisgaar instructed Toki to press the button for the third floor, which he did, and the elevator kicked to life, climbing its way up. It threw them into a small hallway that seemed to be in a T-shape, and Skwisgaar led them to the first door on the left in the longer part. He gave the bag with everything in it to Toki to hold, pulling a key from his front pocket and unlocking the door.

Toki was met with a surprisingly plain apartment when Skwisgaar flicked the lights on. There was a small enclave with a round dining table and folding chairs, a doorway leading to the kitchen adjacent to that to Toki's left, and to his right a living room that consisted of a cheap fat couch, a small television, and lots of notebooks, pens, sheet music and other memorabilia scattered on surfaces and the floor. Skwisgaar put the fishbowl with Gungnir inside down on the table, and Toki dumped the bag beside it, looking at Skwisgaar.

"I sleeps on de couch," was the first thing Skwisgaar said. Toki raised his eyebrows. "Hey, ams better den George, he gots de bathstub."

"I was…expectin's somethin's different," Toki admitted, looking around as if the walls might dissipate and reveal the really cool, awesome apartment that he had been visualizing, all raw brick walls plastered with posters, guitars in every corners, spikes on the furniture, or something. They didn't, and all he saw was the same drab was-it-gray-or-was-it-white wall color, lifeless furniture, a small clock announcing that it was a little past four in the afternoon.

"Ams Mark's influence, mostlies," Skwisgaar said. "Plus, ams expensive to decorates. If you follows me, I can shows you Ritchie and Mark's rooms, dey am so intersetingks. Likes museum relics or somethingks. And den, you knows, our practingskings room." Toki nodded, trailing after Skwisgaar as he disappeared into a hallway.

Mark's room was first, which was much the same as the rest of the apartment but much more disorganized. "He likes to calls himself a genius or somethingks to explains de mess," Skwisgaar narrated as Toki observed piles of laundry of unsure freshness, notebooks open to display their innards, a bass guitar thrown laying on the floor and looking dead. "He reallies ams just a slobs."

Next was Ritchie's room, which was more akin to what Toki had thought the apartment would be like. Ritchie's walls were covered with posters, half-naked women and intimidating men staring at Toki. He had the skeleton of an electronic drum set in one corner, and the closet was open to reveal a mound of clothes, more pants than shirts, a pair of combat boots spilling out. It was still much neater than Mark's room, and Toki nodded with approval. Skwisgaar rolled his eyes, pulled Toki out, and prodded him towards the end of the hallway.

The practice room had everybody else's instruments in it. Toki recognized Skwisgaar's guitar, reclining beside George's, and Ritchie's drum set taking up half of the room. It was a small space, good acoustics, a fancy desk chair shoved in one corner where Toki assumed Dick would sit and watch them play. He looked at Skwisgaar, nodded his approval once more, and then surged up to kiss him, because this seemed as good a room as any. He ended up sitting on that desk chair, his shorts and boxers around his ankles, Skwisgaar's head between his legs. He shouted when he came, because he  _could_ , and that was  _amazing_. Afterwards Skwisgaar looked up with him, lips impossibly fat and pink, and Toki bent down to kiss him. He fell out of the chair and rolled on top of Skwisgaar, and they both laughed, until Toki bit into Skwisgaar's mouth and reached a hand between their bodies, into Skwisgaar's jeans.

They laid on the floor of the practice room for a while in their boxers and shirts, Toki's right ankle crossed over Skwisgaar's left, laughing in spurts. Toki felt good, unbelievably, illegally good, sort of like he got high but without the drugs part. He crawled his hand off of his stomach, found Skwisgaar between his, and remembered with a jerk that he had gifts for Skwisgaar. He found his shorts, which had ended up about five feet from his head, and dug through the pockets. Flushed and with warm ears, he thrust the mixtape and the envelope towards Skwisgaar.

Skwisgaar propped an eyebrow, accepting the items and laying them on his chest. He went to open the envelope, but Toki yelped. "Reads de fuckin' front," he said, pointing to the words.

"Ja, okays, whatsver, Toki," Skwisgaar said. He found his jeans, which were closer to him, stood up and pulled them on, putting the items in one of his back pockets. He offered a hand to Toki. "Comes on, I has to gives you you's gifts, now."

"You gots me something?" Toki's eyebrows shot up.

"Ja," Skwisgaar said, giving him a look that clearly he said he found the question strange. "Why wouldn'ts I? You's my valiantimes,"

"I doesn't know," Toki said, moping. He took Skwisgaar's hand, stood up, and let go of it to put his shorts on. "I was expectingks, likes, you's to try to fucks me and den say dat dat was my gifts."

"Oh," Skwisgaar said. He tilted his head. "So you doesn't want to do dat? De fuckingks?"

"Not today," Toki said. His ears started to warm up again, and he swallowed. "Not on Valentimes Day, dat's so lames and sappies, Skwisgaar. Ams against everythings you stands for."

"Whats about next weekends?" Skwisgaar said, and his voice was serious. He rubbed the back of his head. "We coulds…ja."

"Yeah, um, okays," Toki said, and his ears were ablaze. "Shows me de goddamneds presents you gots me, dildoes." He pursed his lips and furrowed his brow, trying to fight off embarrassment and awkwardness with feigned anger, and of course Skwisgaar saw right through that, because he started guffawing.

"Noes, Toki, I didn'ts gets you dildoes. Follows me." He took Toki's hand again and pulled him out of the room, and something about the way they left their shoes there made Toki feel at home. Skwisgaar led Toki to the enclave near the front of the apartment and sat him down at the table, telling him to close his eyes. Toki did that, resisting the urge to peek the best he could, and listened to the sounds of rustling and Gungnir swimming in the center of the table. Skwisgaar returned after a few minutes, placed something on the table, and told Toki to open his eyes.

And he did. In front of him was a large teddy bear, not furry but smooth, holding a velvet heart-shaped box of chocolates, huge black eyes glinting and face drawn up into a dopey smile. Toki ripped the chocolate box out of its arms and pulled the bear towards him, hugging it, and discovered its tail was forked like a devil's. He looked at Skwisgaar for explanation.

"Ams a deddy bear," Skwisgaar said, looking sort of sheepish. "Gets it?"

Toki nodded. "Gots it." He hugged it tighter. "Loves it."

 _Loves you_.


	13. Beach Redux

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay! I truly have no excuse. Also, this chapter is by far the shortest one. I hope you all can forgive me and understand why after you finish reading it.

Like most every other teenager, Toki had spent a lot of time thinking about sex. His parents had never told him anything about it other than that it was a means for reproduction that he would understand when he was older, but exposure to his friends from a young age had helped to bridge the knowledge gap. He had learned, first, about relations between a man and a woman, and he leaned that from the incorrect and crass words rolling off of Murderface's tongue from the day that Toki had met him. What he knew of gay sex came from crude jokes and pantomimes—it wasn't until he asked Pickles, as earnest as possible, to sit down and  _explain_ everything in eighth grade that Toki got a good grasp on all things sexual. And Pickles continued to be the one he went to, the one he put the most faith in, because it was always kind of awkward to talk to Nathan about these things and because Murderface had proven himself, over and over, to be an unreliable source.

So it was Pickles that Toki now sat with on a Friday afternoon on a seawall, their legs drawn up and facing each other. They were, technically, at a music festival, the sun low in the sky and the sound of a band that neither of them liked but Nathan and Murderface were pretty into playing from their left. Toki'd been trying to scrounge up the courage to talk to Pickles about this all week, ever since he and Skwisgaar situated their plans last Sunday, but he'd failed until this moment. It was now or never—he wouldn't be able to get Pickles alone again before Saturday evening, a weekend packed with socialization ahead of them.

"Pickle," Toki began.

"Oh, I know that tone of voice." Pickles stretched back, keeping his hands on his ankles like a cat. "You're gonna talk to me about something real important, aren't you? Get on with it, then."

The world seemed to stop, and Toki was reminded of that conversation he had had with Pickles declaring himself not-straight. Sweat collected under Toki's brow. "I's—Skwisgaar and I's gonna—we's gonna fuck tomorrow." He choked on the words, sticking in his dry and overused throat from screaming for past bands at the festival.

Pickles laughed. Of course he did. He nearly fell over the seawall, too, teetering like a flag in the breeze, but stopped himself by gripping the other side. "Yeah, and? What do you want me to do? Bake you a cake? Congratulations on the sex you haven't had yet?"

Toki narrowed his eyes. "You doesn't have to be a jerk," he said, sniffing. "This ams serious, Pickle."

"I know, I know, I'm sorry." Pickles went rigid, reached forward and put a hand on Toki's exposed calf. The temperature had done a backflip over the last week, and it was hot again, the wind rolling in off the water causing them to shiver when it hit their sweaty, worn-out selves. "It's just, come on, kid. Ain't that hard. Tab A into Slot B."

"Dat's not de problem," Toki said. He narrowed his eyes further. "It's de…applications. It's de emotionals stuffs. Doesn't know what to expects."

Pickles shrugged. "It's Skwisgaar," he said, which had a weird effect of both calming Toki and making him even more nervous. "He ain't gonna stop being Skwisgaar with his dick in your ass."

"Why's you assume he fucks me? Why not I's fucks him?" Toki forgot about his crisis for a second, offense taking the place of panic.

"Size rule, I guess?" Toki screwed his face up in confusion. "You know, because he's taller."

" _Oh_ ," Toki said. "Oh, dat makes de sense."

Pickle nodded. "And older, and more experienced, all that shit. But you were talking about worrying about emotions, or some gay shit like that?" Toki nodded in affirmation. "Alright, well. I don't have experience with emotional sex, kid."

Toki furrowed his brow, tilted his head. "But you has experiences with everythings." He did—Toki considered Pickles more knowledgeable than any internet search engine for this reason. When Toki had a problem Pickles tended to have the solution, from handling dry mouth after smoking a blunt to the best pencils to buy for his art class.

"Not really." Pickles smiled, but it was a sad smile, and the moonlight hit his teeth in a way that made it almost ghastly. "Most of my sex is, like, an extension of my booze and my drugs. Another thing to feel good, y'know?" he shrugged.

"Oh." Toki was floored. "Dat sounds nice, but I doesn't wants tomorrow to be likes dat. I want it to be…romantics?"

Pickles faked gagging and Toki punched him in the shoulder, laughing. It did sound ridiculous, but it was true. He had fanciful notions, rose petals and mutual orgasm, music playing softly in the background,  _I love you's_ before, after, and during. He expected maybe half of one of those things to come true, somehow, but as he and Pickles straightened up and made sure they weren't about to slip into the churning black water of the ocean before, the mood became serious once more.

Pickles cleared his throat. "How much have you guys done already?"

"Uh. A lots." Toki sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, trying to think. "Most stuffs, I guess. I's not worried abouts dat. We's figures it out."

"Don't underestimate the importance of lube." Pickles's face was so serious, so shadowed by the night, that Toki brings a fist to his mouth to bite down on the knuckles and prevent himself from bleating inappropriate laughter. "I'm serious, Toki. Shit's important. It'll probably hurt like a bitch without it. And let him prep you for as long as you need it. Don't go rushing in. Make sure you come first or you'll get real sore afterwards."

Toki nodded. These things had occurred to him, but hearing it from Pickles validated all of it somehow. Toki was both nervous and excited, as he imagined any virgin would be, and one can never be overly prepared for anything. "You knows," he said, his mind flickering back to the emotions and feelings part, "we hasn't said  _I loves you_ to each other yet."

"Really?" Pickles raises a single eyebrow. "I don't know why that surprises me. Maybe because you guys are, like, all over each other."

"Yeah, but dat's just de physical stuff, you knows. He's kind of…bads at de emotions." Toki rubbed at the back of his neck, wondering if this was oversharing or violating Skwisgaar's privacy. "Likes with dis Fucksface Academy thing, he says dey mights breaks up soon, but he won'ts talks about it besides to complain."

"Well, Toki, some Guys are just like that. How long you been datin' now?" Pickles relaxed, pivoting his body to stretch, and Toki eyed him carefully, afraid he'd fall, split his head on the rocks and be inable to advise him any further.

"Almost four months," Toki said, counting from the first of November to then.

"Four months in and you can't count on him changin'," Pickles said with a wise nod of the head. "I think…I'm going to be serious, and sort of gay, here, for a second, Toki. I think it'll be fine, and I think you guys are good for each other. Like, day and night, but not, you know? You shouldn't worry about tomorrow, and even if it goes sort of bad, well, kid, a lot of sex goes sort of bad and people still make it through." Pickles attempted a virile punch at Toki's shoulder, or something, but it ended up being more like a maternal accosting.

"Thanks, Pickle." In contrast, Toki pulled Pickles towards him, wrapped his arms around him and squeezed. In the background he could hear whoops and hollers and a bass that needed to be tuned down, so loud it was making the grass quiver.

They were left with quite some time before the festival ended, which they spent passing a joint between them and talking about nothing in particular. The sun slinked below the sea, the night arriving with a rotund moon and actual stars. Pickles pointed out that there'd be a full moon tomorrow night, which did nothing to placate Toki's overly romantic fantasies. Nathan and Murderface appeared on the tail end of the last band, Nathan's hair plastered to his face with sweat, Murderface's a literal bird nest of frizz.

"How was it?" Pickles asked, climbing down from the seawall and stretching his legs. Toki followed suit, though he almost fell into the waiting water, his high getting to him.

"Totally awesome, you should've watched it." Nathan flicked a piece of hair out of his face, his gargantuan chest heaving. Murderface, meanwhile, had dropped to the ground, laying in a heap of fat and perspiration.

"You know I don't like the festival scene, Nathan," Pickles said. Toki giggled into his hand, Pickles sounding like a nag. "Besides, Toki and me here had a real good talk." Pickles slung an arm around Toki's shoulder, brought him close and squeezed.

"Lame. What do you guys want to do now?"

"I just wants to goes back," Toki offered, sticking his bottom lip out in a pout. He didn't know what time it was, but it seemed late, and he was tired. He wouldn't be seeing Skwisgaar until tomorrow evening, but he was anxious, wanting to eat up as much time as possible. Maybe he'd sleep for twelve hours. Pickles nodded in agreement.

"God, you guys are lame tonight," Nathan muttered. He kicked at Murderface's side. "C'mon, Murderface, we're going home." Murderface groaned from the ground, but got up anyway.

They collected themselves and pushed through the crowd of people that had amassed and were now blocking the way to the exit. Toki's ears felt like they had a thin layer of cotton coating them, the low thrum of voices laying just underneath enough for him to be unable to interpret them. They shuffled through the throng of people until they broke free into the streets, where they walked yet another twenty minutes to get to Nathan's truck, parked in the bottom level of a parking garage. The night was cool and Toki stuffed his hands into the front of his hoodie, drawing his shoulders into himself and shivering, although that might've been the anticipation of the next day.

"I have an idea," Nathan pronounced after buckling himself into the driver's seat, watching the rearview mirror and waiting for some of the traffic to clear before backing out. "We should totally get some Mexican food."

"Oh, shit, that's a great idea." Pickles reclined in his seat, putting both arms behind his head. "Is everybody good with that?"

Murderface shouted in agreement; Toki nodded, though his mind was elsewhere. Nathan backed out of the space and guided his truck out of garage, jerking the truck into the left turn lane on the next street, tires squealing as he took the turn on the last seconds of the arrow. Five minutes down a badly paved street and they were unloading themselves at the much-loved mom and pop Mexican restaurant sandwiched between two other, lesser restaurants. The place was packed, as was to be expected following such a music festival, and Toki and his friends waited twenty minutes for a table.

They stood just outside the restaurants, their back pressing into the yellow brick of the place. Nathan told Pickles in detail about the performance and Murderface was texting Dick. Toki looked over at Murderface's phone, tried to discern what he was texting to ground himself. "Mind your own buschinessch," Murderface snapped, shoving his phone into his pocket.

"Sorries," Toki said, holding his hand up.

"What do you got to hide, eh?" Pickles laughed, hitting Murderface in the shoulder. Murderface scowled at him.

"Maybe he's texting his girlfriend," Nathan said. The idea of Murderface having a girlfriend in itself was laughable and so everybody laughed. Murderface deepened his scowl and Toki tried not to feel out of it, but he did, like he was floating above the scene and just watching it happen instead of being an active participant.

A few minutes later a waiter came out to retrieve and seat them. Toki had no idea what he ordered, though he knew he had asked for a hibiscus tea lemonade, which was so sweet and tangy it seemed to stick his tongue to the roof his mouth when he drank it. Pickles flashed his fake I.D. and bought tequila that Nathan eyed. Murderface resumed his texting, holding his phone so that nobody could see the screen. More waiting for their food, the restaurant loud and busy, Toki wavering in and out.

Picking apart his enchilada, Toki found it hard to concentrate. He dug black beans out of a shell he was disinterested in and felt his eyes drift out of focus as he zoned out, thought of Skwisgaar. He'd only managed to make an absolute mess of his food and get about three mouthfuls he didn't taste before everybody else finished and Pickles snapped his fingers in front of his face to get his attention and alert him that they were leaving.

Toki's state of mind did not improve much as they returned to Nathan's house, nor for the rest of the night. His high wore off as time crept forward, but he found himself unable to concentrate on the video games the other three were playing, instead preferring to spread himself over a couch and try not to let him stomach boil over from nerves. He couldn't pinpoint the exact source of his anxiety, his mind incapable of producing a worse-case scenario, but every time he thought of Skwisgaar sliding into him he felt his chest tighten and stomach churn. He entertained the idea that perhaps he wasn't ready but decided that wasn't it—he was ready, he wanted it, but that didn't make  _it_ , the big, magical  _it_ , any less scary.

He ended up falling asleep on the couch, one arm hanging off and drawing patterns on the carpet to try and ground himself. He slept fitfully and longer than he usually did, waking up to toss and turn. Somebody had draped a blanket over him, which he noticed the first time he woke up, kicked off the second time, and retrieved from the floor the third. The guys had left the television on but turned the game console off, the screen black but still buzzing and giving off light, preventing Toki from sinking into the deep and dreamless sleep he craved.

He forced himself off the couch around eleven in the morning. Feeling a bit guilty he folded the blanket and put it on the side of the couch, fluffing the throw pillows he'd rumpled and replacing them as well. Once he did that, he couldn't stop tidying—he turned the television off, packed up everything from the night before, even collected all the trash and took it to the kitchen to throw it away. Once in the kitchen he started neatening everything there, too, and was about to start on the dishes until Pickles materialized in the doorway, saying Toki's name and startling him.

Toki turned around. "Whats?" he hissed, adopting a defensive stance.

"Nothin', Jesus, Toki. Why are you cleaning Nathan's kitchen?" Pickles leaned his shoulder against the doorway and crossed his arms.

"It was dirty."

"Uh, no it wasn't." Pickles uncrossed his arms and walked over to Toki, looking him up and down with a scrupulous eye. "What's up with you, kid? Still worried about tomorrow?"

Toki averted his eyes, choosing to instead study one of the kitchen tiles. "Maybes," he said, heat flaring across his face. "Ams stupids, because I  _knows_ I shouldn't be, buts—"

"I get it, I get it," Pickles said. He put his hand on Toki's shoulder and Toki looked up. Pickles's face was earnest and understanding, calming Toki somewhat as it had the previous night. "Look, like I told you—I don't know shit about sex like you want it to be. I barely remember my first time, I was blazed off my nuts, alright? And I'm getting sick of these emotional little talks we've been having. Just come hang with me and Nathan and Murderface. Stop worrying for a few hours."

And so Toki did. He forced his impending date with Skwisgaar out of his mind and followed Pickles up the stairs to Nathan's room. Nathan and Murderface were awake, Nathan on his bed and Murderface at the computer, their usual positions. They all smoked a bowl and listened to the newest release by one of their collective favorite bands, dissecting every song on the album for the rest of the morning and the majority of the afternoon. As the evening inched closer, Toki's nerves started to crawl back inside of him, his head swimming with half-thoughts about the next few hours. He bundled them up and shoved them to the corner of his mind, trying his best to perk his ears for the sound of the rhythm guitar on the track, his assigned instrument to listen for and discuss.

When it came time for Toki to leave to meet Skwisgaar at their decided location, he looked at Nathan with a nervous expression. Nathan raised his eyebrows and Toki gestured to the door; Nathan nodded and grabbed his keys from his nightstand. He and Nathan shuffled out of the room, Pickles and Murderface following them. Toki knew that after they dropped him off they were planning on hanging out around downtown for a while, collecting Skwisgaar and Toki as Nathan's curfew came closer for another sleepover at Nathan's, this time including Skwisgaar. Toki thought that might be awkward, seeing his friends so soon after having sex with Skwisgaar for the first time, just another anxiety to add to an endless list. His head was so fogged he barely noticed the ride downtown, biting down on his lip hard enough to draw blood and then running his tongue over the sore and sucking it.

Nathan parked in a parking complex and the four of them walked to the coffee shop where they had arranged to meet Skwisgaar. It wasn't the one he and Toki had sat in when Toki'd skipped school but it was similar, and something about that was soothing. They pushed the door open and Toki saw Skwisgaar, reclining on a cheap velveteen couch against a wall like this was something he did every day, his torso elongated and eyebrows perched just in the slightest. After what felt like a lightning bolt coursing through his veins, Toki swore his heart ceased beating, his muscles seized up and he stopped, the doorway to the coffee shop swinging shut behind him.

"Tokis?" Toki blinked away his temporary blindness, seeing Skwisgaar now standing in front of him, cocking his head. Skwisgaar's hand hovered out from his body as if he wanted to touch Toki but wasn't sure if he could, and something about that made Toki almost want to sob with relief. He threw his arms around Skwisgaar's neck in a full embrace, squeezing him tight. Yes, he thought,  _yes_. And into Toki's hair Skwisgaar whispered: "Ams you readies?"

Toki pulled back and smiled, nodded. He separated from Skwisgaar and took his hand, walking out of the coffee shop. He forgot to say goodbye to his friends, but something about how Nathan was yelling at the cashier for not being able to get his order straight made him think they didn't care.

Skwisgaar and Toki had spent a while deciding on where the events of the evening should take place. Toki's house was quite obviously out of the question; Nathan's was awkward, as was Skwisgaar's; neither of them had a car; neither of them had the money for a motel room and Toki felt sleazy about that option, anyway. He didn't want to be a hookup in a stranger's bed at a party, half-high and drunk, nor a one-night stand to be ruined and left for dead. It was Skwisgaar that threw the idea of a public place out, sort of as a joke, but Toki had latched onto that—after all, they'd kissed on a beach, made out in a dressing room, blew each other in Dick Knubbler's bathroom. The romantic notion of returning to the beach where they'd had their first kiss, that secluded patch of sand on the severe slope hidden in the night, appealed to Toki, and Skwisgaar had agreed.

On the way to their little beach, they talked about everything but what was about to happen. Skwisgaar complained about Fuckface Academy; Toki complained about how Skwisgaar always complained about Fuckface Academy; Toki told Skwisgaar about the music festival, omitting his conversation with Pickles; they even talked about current events, the weather. Toki's nerves almost vanished, just a weak pulse of anxiety where his palm connected with Skwisgaar's, until they started the descent down to the beach. As Toki's fit slid beneath him on the sand, building up traction to keep him from slipping, his anxiety followed a similar pattern, rising until it felt like a ball he couldn't swallow at the back of his throat.

Toki stood near the water while Skwisgaar pulled a beach towel from the backpack he was wearing, securing it to the ground with his high-top white Converse, Toki's low-top black ones (still with the Sharpie doodles all over them), their cell phones and the backpack itself. The beach towel was colorful, stripes of citric colors, which calmed Toki in a weird, vague way. It was early, around six, and the sun was almost set, the light kind of dark but kind of not. Wind was rolling off of the sea and it was cold but not really, not enough that Toki could feel it, his shirt flapping around his stomach. He heard Skwisgaar padding through the sand, coming up behind him and wrapping his arms around Toki, brushing aside his hair and kissing a spot into his neck.

"Heys," Toki said, still watching the water. He wanted to see a dolphin.

"Heys." Skwisgaar pulled his mouth from Toki's neck. "You okays?"

"Yeah." Toki said. He turned around in Skwisgaar's hold, wrapping his own arms around Skwisgaar. He walked them backwards until they were standing ankle-deep in waves that lapped lightly at their skin, sea foam collecting around them.

Skwisgaar smiled down at Toki, lowered his head and pressed his mouth against Toki's own. They kissed like that, standing in the water, until the sun fell and the moon rose and it was dark but not completely, the full moon bountiful and beautiful, coating their skin in a silvery sheen. They worked their bodies into each other's, kissing with ferocity, ethereal in the enveloping night. With lips and eyelids heavy and swollen they parted, looking at each other. Skwisgaar's hands tangled in Toki's hair, Toki nodded.

"Ams a littles nervous," Toki whispered, nuzzling his head forward. "Has to admit."

"Ams okays if you doesn't want to—"

Toki shook his head, cutting Skwisgaar off. "Noes, noes, I wants to. Dis will sound stupids, but—I feels safe with you. I knows dat now. I ams really calms right now."

"You sure?" When Toki nodded, Skwisgaar nodded in return, capturing Toki in a quick and filthy open-mouth kiss before stepping back and taking him by the hand. They walked out of the surf and across the sand to the beach towel, Skwisgaar tugging his shirt off his back unceremoniously, Toki doing the same, tossing them to the side. Toki wondered what his scars and bruises and cuts must look like in the moonlight, if they stood out against his tan, if they revealed the ugliness inside of him. He hesitated before coming to his knees on the towel, Skwisgaar sitting cross-legged opposite him. But Skwisgaar wasn't looking at the impressions of a hand on Toki's upper arm or the scars that leaked over from his back—he was looking at Toki's eyes, his mouth, serene, seductive. Toki fell towards Skwisgaar, resuming their kissing.

They ran their hands up and down each other's bodies. Toki twisted Skwisgaar's nipples and his lips quirked, Skwisgaar's hand dipping into Toki's pants, finding his cock and palming at it. Toki, already half-hard, lurched forward, curling a hand he had splayed across Skwisgaar's right shoulder. He knew he wouldn't make it through a handjob and shook his head, moving Skwisgaar's hand away.

"Whats?" Skwisgaar asked. "Nerves?"

Toki laughed and kissed the crease that had formed between Skwisgaar's eyebrows. "No, not dat," he said. "De opposites. I doesn't think I's last dat long tonight—can you just gets on with de prepping?"

Skwisgaar nodded. Toki stood up on his knees so that Skwisgaar could pull his shorts and boxers down enough to access his ass, groping and stroking before pulling Toki towards him and kissing him while he felt around for the lube. When Skwisgaar found the bottle he lathered his hands in it, using his wrists to keep Toki pressed against him. He ran his hand across Toki's ass, fingers dancing around his hole, drawing goose bumps on Toki's skin until dipping a single finger just inside. Toki rocked backwards and Skwisgaar responded, inserting a second finger. They kept that rhythm, Toki's cock trapped between his and Skwisgaar's stomach, Skwisgaar's straining in his jeans, Skwisgaar's fingers hitting something that made Toki seize in delight for a few minutes until Toki shook his head, put his hands flat on Skwisgaar's chest and said, "Now, please."

"Polite," Skwisgaar said. He pulled his fingers out and Toki sat back on his ankles, his ass feeling empty and himself impatient. "I likes dat." He leaned back to find his backpack and Toki took the time to drag his eyes up and down Skwisgaar's body, smooth and lean and white, before taking initiative and pulling his jeans off himself. Skwisgaar raised his eyebrows as he slathered himself in lube and retrieved a condom from the wrapper. He raised his hips, letting Toki take his pants and boxers off completely and throw them behind him before crawling up Skwisgaar's body and kissing him, squeezing his cockhead for good measure. "Dis is a little uncomfortables, Toki," Skwisgaar muttered, nudging Toki back.

"Sorries." Toki sat up again and Skwisgaar took the condom, unwrapping it and slipping it onto his dick.

"You still good?" Toki nodded; emotionally, he was fine, but he was about to go mad with lust, his eyes focused on Skwisgaar's waiting and alluring dick, his fists balling on his knees. "Good, then comes here."

Skwisgaar rearranged his legs so they straddled Toki, reclined, and tugged him close. Toki used all his strength to lower himself onto Skwisgaar's cock, a bit at a time. It was slow; of course it was slow. Skwisgaar was well-endowed and this was Toki's first time. It was weird and strange for all the same reasons, but it felt  _amazing_ , his legs shaking with not so much the strain as the pleasure. When he got as far down as he could, Skwisgaar's hand resting on his hips, Toki sighed, so deep he could feel it in the bottom of his lungs—he had jacked off, he had gotten handjobs, blowjobs, even been fingered, but nothing compared to this, this complete and total feeling of fullness and contentment. He wrapped his hands around Skwisgaar's shoulders and dug his nails into the dip of the skin, his forehead angled into Skwisgaar's hair. He was doing it—he was really doing it, Skwisgaar was inside of him, and he didn't feel nervous so much as ecstatic. Every particle that composed his body quivered and despite the coolness of the night, he began to sweat.

"Jesus, Toki." Skwisgaar, his voice a butterfly landing on Toki's neck as he rolled his hips up once, slow, experimental. Toki gasped into him, tightened his grip, and Skwisgaar groaned with something between physical and emotional pain. Toki knew the feeling, sympathized—his heart was burning and clenching almost as much as his ass.

"Skwisgaar," was Toki's only reply, his eyes squeezed shut so tight fireworks were going off against the backdrop of his eyelids.

Skwisgaar tilted his hips again, searching for a good angle, and eventually pressing his chest against Toki's own, nudging him back. "Let's gets you on you's back," he murmured and Toki nodded, glad to soothe his now-aching calves. They lowered themselves to the towel, a true team effort, slowly, until Skwisgaar was supporting himself with hands on either side of Toki's head and Toki moved his hands so they laid flat against Skwisgaar's back, sprawled and gripping, trying to touch as much as he could. He raised his hips and dug his heels around Skwisgaar so that he was essentially clinging to him. Once they were comfortable and nestled, Skwisgaar started thrusting—first in slow increments, then gaining speed. Toki kept his eyes closed, and nodded his head each time Skwisgaar asked if he was okay, if he was comfortable, if he was good.

Toki had almost forgotten his own arousal in the hysteria that built up to this, to the snapping of Skwisgaar's hips and the feeling of his skin beneath his fingernails. His hardness and the pressure coiled in his stomach surprised him, and his right hand slipped down Skwisgaar's back and between their bodies without conscious thought. He sighed and opened his eyes halfway when his fingers brushed his own cock before wrapping around it. Skwisgaar noticed what he was doing, nodded, and moved a hand so that he could stroke at Toki's hair, leaning down to press kisses to Toki's lips, the corner of his mouth, his jawline, his neck. Toki nodded in return, over and over again, in rhythm with Skwisgaar's thrusts and jacking himself off. The towel beneath them crumpled and sand snuck in, sticking to their sweat, but Toki didn't notice. He only dug his heels in further to Skwisgaar, tried to close the space in its entirety, feel every part of his body. It was so much and yet not enough—Toki bent his head up and bit at Skwisgaar's skin, leaving the impression of his teeth and smiling at the expression on Skwisgaar's face when he came back down.  _His_.

Skwisgaar picked up speed until he released a guttural moan and dropped to Toki's chest, his hips jerking in orgasm. Toki came as soon as he felt Skwisgaar spasm, pounding against his prostate and sending his body into orbit with ecstasy. He could see stars in the actual night sky, just far enough from the city, but the saw stars he saw in his eyes, in Skwisgaar's eyes, in the future and the past and especially the present trumped them by far. Toki immediately deflated, his other hand rolling off of Skwisgaar's body and his legs relaxing. Through the haze Toki managed to run a hand through Skwisgaar's hair, petting him, as if to congratulate him for a job well done.

"Faster than I thought you'd be," Toki mumbled. His muscles felt like they'd loss about fifty percent of their mass, a blanket of tiredness settling over him. The stars he saw, showering and popping, slowed down, and his blood felt like it'd turn to lead, thick and the only thing keeping him tied to the earth at the moment.

Skwisgaar made some noise that was unidentifiable and rolled off of Toki, moving to position himself so that Toki could curl up into him. The beach towel had shriveled up with their efforts, coiling onto them, that and the other's body heat sheltering them from the cold of the breeze. The ringing in Toki's ears subsided and he could hear the waves crashing against the beach once more. Toki's eyes were as heavy as he felt, barely registering the feeling of movement as Skwisgaar removed his condom and tied it off, tossed it behind his head.

"Dat's littering," Toki said, smiling into Skwisgaar's chest.

"Whatsever." Skwisgaar said around a yawn, repositioning himself so he could hold Toki better. "Doesn't care. Mother Earth shoulds be happy to has my cum."

"Dat's gross," Toki mumbled. "You's gross." He remembered then that his own cum was drying on their stomachs with a jerk, his eyes going wide. "Does you has a rag?"

"Yeah." Skwisgaar leaned back, got a rag from his backpack and handed it to Toki. Toki rolled on his back, wiped himself off, and passed the rag—which he realized was a classic red bandana—to Skwisgaar, who did the same. When they were clean they came back together, like magnets snapping into place.

It was quiet for a while. Toki didn't know how long—he felt like he had transcended time, like he was swimming around inside of his own small, infinite universe, composed only of this beach and this beach towel and Skwisgaar. It was the same feeling he'd experienced in the room at that New Year's Eve party, trembling underneath Skwisgaar's fingers as he explored his scars and whispered apologies and pledges. With that memory Toki was gripped by a sudden and violent gladness that Skwisgaar had ignored Toki's imperfections during this first time—he would have come undone if Skwisgaar had dipped into the track of a scar or thumbed a bruise, would've cried for days. And despite being a crier Toki felt no need for tears, that gratitude easing itself into a gentle peace and a realization: this feeling of mutual isolation was the feeling of deep, genuine, cemented love. Not love that arose out of Skwisgaar doing something particularly amazing and admirable, or the type of love you express when somebody lets you copy their math homework or gives you candy, or even the type of love he had felt in the beginning, where the urge to blurt it out was strong all the time. This was real. He moved farther back from Skwisgaar so his vision was not obscured by his chest and he could observe Skwisgaar's face, the strands of hair that clung to the sweat drying on his cheekbones, the moisture that collected in his eyelashes and the flecks of sand that had found their way to his neck. Skwisgaar's eyebrows creased again, confused, and he opened his perfect mouth in a perfect shape, but Toki cut him off—

"I love you."

Skwisgaar closed his mouth. His eyebrows knitted closer together, then fell apart. His hand, which had been absently rubbing Toki's upper arm, idled. His jaw went slack and he breathed out hard through his nose. Toki saw in Skwisgaar the same deflation he had just experienced in the physical sense, but in him it was emotional and perhaps even more total than Toki's had been. "Ja," he said, his eyelids fluttering down. "Ja. I love you too. Comes here."

Toki slotted himself back into Skwisgaar's grasp. That was when he felt the tears threatening to spill, and he let them, knowing that after everything, it would be okay.

"I loves you so much," Skwisgaar began to mumble, talking into Toki's skin, his hands running through his hair. "I doesn't tell you dat because I's scared, I guesses. Dis is, like, de first emotional sex I ever has, and you's de most emotionals I's ever been with and ever felt, and I didn'ts know what dat was likes, you knows? I thinks about you and I talks about you all de time, I's be in a store and I's like, oh, Toki would likes dat, I hears a band and I's like, oh, Toki woulds likes dem. And I don'ts just loves you, I likes you, and I's never liked anybody's I's been with before. I's never cared if dey felt okay and safe and all dat stuff. But I cares with you. I cares with you so much."

Toki shivered into Skwisgaar. He was crying, he was—this was, arguably, more important and monumental than the sex for him. He had felt Skwisgaar's penetration in every inch, but he felt this raw emotion in every molecule, in his fucking  _soul_. This was what had prevented him from feeling that completeness during the sex and he wept with the implications of their next time, of their relationship, of this boy holding him with the teeth marks belonging to Toki that Toki could dig his fingers into and make him scream. Toki had to kiss Skwisgaar, put as much effort as he had left into him, like the way couples kiss at the end of a marriage ceremony. To seal it. To seal this between them, this pact of love and trust, forever, that was the type of kiss that Toki gave Skwisgaar and that Skwisgaar returned.

Toki thought about telling Skwisgaar everything—how nervous he'd been, his doubts, his insecurities, but he felt it was unnecessary. Felt Skwisgaar knew. Felt this was now more about Skwisgaar, about his vulnerability, about the way Toki could feel his heart beating when he pressed his palm against his chest. Their heartbeats were in a glorious synchrony, and though there had been no rose petals or candles or music in the background, and though Toki's ass was a little sore and there was sand everywhere and he was sort of sticky, it was perfect. He had gotten his  _I love you_ , he'd gotten more than half, he'd gotten the whole.

They fell asleep and woke up some time later, still entangled and freezing cold, hastening to collect their clothes and get them back on. There were sand in their jeans and their shirts were dank but they were laughing as they beat the beach towel of all the sand it had collected, Toki showing Skwisgaar how to fold it and shoving it back inside Skwisgaar's backpack. They stood in the middle of their little beach, this beach that meant so much to them, and looked around at it, at the craggy bushes and sharp incline, the weatherworn and crumbled seawall that allowed such a place to exist. It was perfect, it was the perfect place and Toki couldn't have imagined this night, this perfect night, having had happened anywhere else. He couldn't believe he had been so worried when everything had gone so well.

They lingered before heading back—Skwisgaar had checked his phone and a surprising amount of time had passed, almost ten o'clock now—with the backpack hanging off of one of Skwisgaar's shoulders, the moon hitting his face in a way that highlighted the angles and the beauty in the way that he stared at Toki. Toki felt no need to look into the ocean now, to search for a dolphin, to dream about escape. All he wanted to do was look at Skwisgaar, standing before him, a bruise rising where Toki had bit him, the hem of his shirt uneven on his hips so that Toki could see a sliver of his stomach. All he wanted to do was smile, so he did.

"We should does dat again," Skwisgaar said, and Toki melted.

"It was okay." Toki shrugged and Skwisgaar rolled his eyes; Toki laughed and nudged Skwisgaar; Skwisgaar nudged back. Still laughing and nudging and loving they left the beach, left the waves lapping at the shore and the condom filled with the evidence of what they'd done somewhere in the bushes, bringing with them the sand in the crotches of their jeans and the bond they had secured, the invisible red string that tied around their pinky fingers and knotted between them.


	14. Skwisgaar the Deadbeat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, it is so not fair of me to show up after almost a year with a short and admittedly kind of rushed chapter, but here we are. No excuses, man. No exuses. No promises, either, because I never keep those when it come to fanfiction, either. One promise, however: this story will be done by June 3rd, 2015, because I am not taking this shit to college with me. I started writing this before I even was a sophomore, and I'm going to end it in my senior year, damn it! Anyway, enjoy this chapter. Some good shit happens.

Three o'clock on a Tuesday night in early March and a knocking sound woke Toki up. He rolled over in bed, craning his head to see Skwisgaar waiting at the window, looking impatient and even anxious. Toki sighed and got out of bed, walking to the window and groaning all the while.

"I swears to God if dis is about de sex—" he hissed, doing the latches and helping Skwisgaar climb in.

"It's not about de sex, you dildos," Skwisgaar snapped. Toki pressed a finger to his lips in the  _shushing_ motion and closed the window, turning to Skwisgaar with his hands on his hips.

"Wells?" Toki asked.

"Long stories short, uh, Fuckface Academy breaks up and now I's homeless." Skwisgaar fell backwards onto Toki's bed, sitting with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, and moaned.

Toki felt the implications run through him—this was bad, this was really, really bad, and there wasn't a damned thing he could do about it. "You can'ts stays here," he said, stating the obvious, and Skwisgaar gave him a look that meant he did not appreciate it. "Sorries, I just wokes up!" He yawned for good measure, stretching his arms high above his head. He then sat beside Skwisgaar, leaning his body against his. "Why doesn't you tell me whats happened."

Skwisgaar told him what had happened, and what had happened was quite the story. The power hierarchy of the band held Mark at the top, then Ritchie, then Skwisgaar, and then George; Ritchie had tried to rally Skwisgaar and George to mutiny against Mark, but they both hated Ritchie and Mark in equal amounts. George, influenced by his new girlfriend and the fact that her dad could hook him up with a job at his copy company, announced that he quit shortly thereafter. Mark threw a fit and wouldn't accept it, even when Ritchie tried to tell him they could just find a new bassist—apparently the band's chemistry had been broken and couldn't be repaired. Skwisgaar had made an attempt at reconciliation while George packed to move out of the apartment and Ritchie smoked crack in the bathroom, but that devolved into a huge argument between Skwisgaar and Mark, with Skwisgaar finally speaking up about the abuse that he felt they had all suffered at Mark's hand, how Ritchie was a prick and George was too spineless to hold the band together. Mark, in hysterics, called Dick, told him the band had broken up and kicked everybody except for himself out of his apartment.

"You knows, Knubbler's roomsmate moved out a whiles ago." That was the first thing that occurred to Toki when Skwisgaar got to the part about Dick. "You coulds probablies calls him and moves in with him."

Skwisgaar dragged a hand down his face; Toki noted the elasticity of his skin, fighting the urge to lean over and kiss him, stick a hand down his pants. Now was not the time. Skwisgaar spoke: "Maybes."

"What's you mean, maybes? De fuck else you's gonna do, bes a homeless person?" Toki wrinkled his nose. "Besides, Dicks ams, like, in de loves with you. He's let you lives dere, I'm sures of it. Calls him right now."

Skwisgaar moaned again, this time in a noncommittal manner.

Toki sighed. "Does you have his number in you's phone?"

"Of courses." Skwisgaar peeked up from his hunched position, sneering at Toki. Toki knew an insult to his intelligence or common sense or whatever would get him to come around.

"Gives to me you's phone, den." Toki jutted a hand towards Skwisgaar.

"Noes."

"And whys not?" Toki jutted a hip out next, tapped his foot. This situation was ridiculous and he was impatient, feeling a tug of tiredness around the corner of his eyes. Skwisgaar was pathetic, sitting on his bed like that, and also arousing, and overall Toki was just too sleepy for this shit.

"A man's phone ams his own personal busy-ness," Skwisgaar said, now looking at Toki in full.

"Ams dere stuff on dere dat I shouldn'ts see?" Toki asked.

"Noes!" Skwisgaar got up off the bed. "Ams just mines private property, dat's all."

Toki narrowed his eyes. He was starting to get concerned—if Skwisgaar asked, he'd hand his phone over in a heartbeat, and here Skwisgaar was, all indignant. He felt his chest tighten. "Just tryin's to helps," he said, malice in his tone.

"Didn'ts comes here for de  _helps_ ," Skwisgaar muttered, looking off to the side.

"De fucks you comes here for, den? Interrupts mines sleep for de hells of it?"

Skwisgaar snapped his head back at Toki. "No," he hissed. "I comes here because—it's my first fuckin' instincts! To comes to you! And tells you my problems!" He wasn't yelling, but whisper-shouting, remembering Toki's parents lurking in their bed nearby. And though Toki was mad at and annoyed with Skwisgaar at the moment, that action grounded him—reminded him that couples fought, that it was natural, and he didn't love Skwisgaar any less, though he could really do without this dickery.

"Wells, dat's sweet and alls," Toki said. He rolled his eyes, though he didn't mean it. "Buts eithers gives to me your phone or leaves and let me sleeps. Crash with George or somethings for the night."

"George ams homeless too," Skwisgaar said, pouting and crossing his arms like a petulant child. "I think he ams staying de nights at his parents' place and dat ams lames."

"Den fuckings calls Dick already," Toki said, fighting the urge to growl in annoyance. "I has school and chores tomorrow, I can'ts be tireds, Skwisgaar! Dis ams very inconsiderates of yous." Toki crossed his arms, turned his nose up.

"I comes here to tells you my problems and you calls me inconsiderates?" Skwisgaar balked. "De balls on you!"

"Yes, my balls, you's seen dem." Toki rolled his eyes and meant it this time. "And you isn't gonna sees dem again for a whiles unless you makes a decision."

Skwisgaar moaned for a third time, falling back on the bed. Toki sat beside him and ran a hand down his arm, trying to comfort him or coax him into a decision, anything. He ignored the urge to lean over and kiss him for what felt like the fiftieth time tonight, struggling to fight his hormones off when Skwisgaar finally spoke up. "Looks, I'lls go to George's tonight and calls Dick in de mornings. It would be rudes to do it right nows."

Toki made a noise of agreement in his throat and gave in, leaning down to kiss Skwisgaar. Skwisgaar responded, snaking a hand into Toki's hair and pulling him on top of him. They grinded against each other, drained and lazy, as Skwisgaar moved himself farther back on Toki's bed. Toki noticed Skwisgaar was rough tonight and didn't mind—he probably needed it, so he let Skwisgaar bite at him, pull his hair a bit. It was nice, he had to admit, and they hurried to tug their pants down, get their hands on each other's cocks. Toki came with his forehead pressed into Skwisgaar's and his dick in Skwisgaar's hand, his lips feeling raw. He wanted to do something special for Skwisgaar and couldn't think of anything, running his nails up and down Skwisgaar's length to tease him, until he came up with something. He rubbed two fingers of his left hand over the tip of Skwisgaar's cock, leaking precum, and shoved them inside his asshole with no further precedence, biting Skwisgaar's lips when he was about to yelp.

"Wait—ams dis okay?" Toki whispered in Skwisgaar's ear, feeling panicked. Skwisgaar's cock was throbbing in Toki's right hand, but still. He paused the thrusting of his fingers until he got an answer, preparing to withdraw.

Skwisgaar nodded. Toki had once again drawn blood on Skwisgaar's lips; he smiled and lapped at it like a cat until Skwisgaar was close to orgasm, then bent down and lapped at his cock. When he came, he licked him clean, and Skwisgaar just laid there, panting. Toki was a little hard again but chose to ignore it—he was feeling more loving than aroused, curling at Skwisgaar's side, the taste of his cum fresh on his tongue.

"You's—" Skwisgaar began, but did not finish.

"Me's what?"

"You's amazingks."

"Trues." Toki laughed, drawing tighter into Skwisgaar, hugging his upper arm to him and pressing his knees into his hips.

"But I has to leaves." Skwisgaar mumbled this and made no effort to move despite the sentiment. Toki sighed—of  _course_  Skwisgaar had to leave, he couldn't say for so many reasons, but it was so easy to forget that in the after-orgasm haze. It took them a few minutes but they got out of bed, put themselves back together, and stood by the window in Toki's room, their hands held between them.

"It ams goin's to be fine," Toki said, punctuating the sentence with a kiss to Skwisgaar's cheek. "You's find a new band no problems."

"Ja, I knows. Just stressed from Fucksface." Skwisgaar pinched the bridge of his nose between the fingers of the hand that wasn't holding Toki's.

"I loves you," Toki said, and this time he pecked Skwisgaar on the lips. He withdrew his hand.

"Whatevers." Skwisgaar peeked down at Toki. He was smiling, and that was good enough.

Toki saw Skwisgaar off and returned to bed, falling back into sleep as soon as his body fell into the sheets. He slept heavily and dreamlessly, waking up later than usual in the morning and dragging himself out of bed groggily and begrudgingly. He went to school and checked his phone several times throughout the day for an update from Skwisgaar and found nothing, biting his lip and jiggling his leg in every class. At lunch, he told his friends what had happened the night before.

"So?" was Nathan's response. "They sucked."

"Nathan!" Pickles turned to him, his eyebrows drawn and mouth puckered. "That's not nice, not nice at all." He returned his gaze to Toki and made a vague hand motion. "Sorry, kid. Your boyfriend's homeless. That sucks."

"He won'ts bes if he takes my advisings," Toki muttered. He crossed his arms. "Wouldn'ts even lets me sees his phone, what's dat about?"

"No, no,  _no_ ," Murderface moaned, dropping his head to the table. He rolled sideways on his cheek so that he could face Toki. "We are not talking about your dumb schtupid boyfriend problemsch at lunch."

"Homophobe." Pickles stood up and leaned over the table, slapping Murderface's face so he rolled the opposite way. "Seriously, douchebag, what's your problem? Lighten up." He returned to a sitting position and brushed his lap off as a housewife would her apron after disciplining her child.

Nathan steered the conversation away from Toki's boyfriend problems, maybe out of Murderface's benefit, maybe because the subject  _was_  a little boring. On some level Toki recognized that, but on most levels Toki was concerned with his boring, stupid boyfriend problems, his head buzzing as he carded through the events of last night to come up with an answer to a half-formed and vague question.

It didn't help that Toki didn't hear from Skwisgaar until the end of the day while he was sitting on the bus, his phone vibrating with the notification of a text message:  _dik says yes butt i hav 2 pays rent?/_

Toki, before the words sank in and the panic burst in his chest, ran his thumb over the screen and across the question mark and forward slashes. Then the panic set in and Toki's eyes blew and he almost dropped his phone in his hurry to text back:

 _sos! gets a job! IMPOPRANTS!_ Toki's assigned seatmate, a freshman girl with a snobbish face, seemed to be spying on their texts and suppressed a snigger. Toki glared at her.

_not an idiots toki ams lookin on-lines_

Toki responded with a promise of  _call yous when I can_ and put his phone away, scooting against the window to avoid the glares of the girl beside him. She got off at the next stop and Toki stretched his legs out over the seat, crossing his wrists behind his head and closing his eyes. He was near sleep, fatigued from the night before, but hung onto the edges of consciousness, floating in and out of an aware doze.

He was forced to awaken when the bus lurched into his stop. He got off, thanking the bus driver, and started on the way to his house. Worry filled him, both about going home and about Skwisgaar, and so he veered left when he should've turned right and headed to the neighborhood park. Elementary school children would not yet be home, and he could call Nathan and ask him to have his parents call Toki's and say he was with them. Thus, Toki could steal a few hours of precious time alone. He only wish that he had his skateboard.

At the park, Toki wrapped his legs around the monkey bars and hung upside down. The monkey bars were unusually high, but half of his hair still fell in a pile on the ground. He dug his cell phone out of his shorts and called Nathan; Nathan agreed to have his parents call Toki's. Then, on impulse, he dialed Skwisgaar's number.

"Whats?" Skwisgaar asked, picking up on the second ring. He sounded like he just woke up, even though they'd just been texting.

"I has some free times," Toki says. "Ams at de park in mines neighborhood—"

"Bes right dere!" And Skwisgaar hung up.

Toki swung back and forth on the monkey bars, observing the upside-down world that he inhabited. He let his cell phone fall to the weird tar ground beneath him and shut his eyes. There was a slight breeze, birds chirping in the distance, his legs strong enough to hold him without a problem on the monkey bars. Maybe he was postponing the inevitable by not going home, but in these few hours of peace he thought he might be able to live an eternity.

When Skwisgaar arrived Toki had moved from hanging off the monkey bars to sitting on top of them; the blood rushing to his head had gotten to be too much. Skwisgaar propped his eyebrows when he spotted Toki and wasted no time in climbing on top of the monkey bars himself, letting a faded black knapsack drop the ground along with Toki's backpack and his phone. Skwisgaar was dressed particularly well today, a thin black tank-top and low-hanging skinny jeans two sizes too big, held in place with a belt. Toki greeted him with a deep kiss when he was situated beside him.

"Helloes to you too," Skwisgaar said when Toki pulled back. Toki smiled at him.

"Does you thinks dat we coulds fucks on de monkey bars?" Toki asked. He'd been thinking about it while he waited for Skwisgaar and was a little hard, the blood in his body confused about where to go.

Skwisgaar considered it, pressing a finger into his plump bottom lip in a way that did not help abate Toki's growing arousal. "Ams not wise," he said. "Buts."

So, they had sex on the monkey bars. Toki lied on his stomach and hooked his hands and feet around the bars; Skwisgaar did some yoga magic and, using his upper body strength from years of playing the guitar, supported himself while he thrust into Toki, their clothes on and pants pulled down just enough. It was exhilarating, exhibitionist, and it took neither of them long to reach orgasm, Skwisgaar unloading in Toki's ass and Toki coming into his boxers.

"Not dis agains," Toki whined. He jerked under Skwisgaar, going to pull himself up and forgetting he was lying on the monkey bars. He realized his mistake only when it was too late—he was able to save himself by tightening his grip on the bars, his legs slipping through and one bar thrusting into his stomach, but Skwisgaar fell through and landed weirdly on his ankle, six feet below. Skwisgaar shrieked out in pain; it was a sort of feminine screech, Toki noted.

Toki scrambled to get down from the monkey bars and rushed to Skwisgaar's side. In that time Skwisgaar had come to a sitting position and was cradling his ankle, his baggy jeans pushed up to reveal some developing swelling and bruising. "Tokis!" he was hissing, his tongue between his teeth.

"Skwisgaars!" Toki shouted back, because he didn't know what else to do and the black and blue of Skwisgaar's ankle was making him a little sick.

"I doesn't have de insurances," Skwisgaar said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "It ams hurtingks real bad—"

"Ams—Ams gonna calls Pickle!" This was the only thing Toki could think of to do; Skwisgaar just groaned in response. Toki found his phone and dialed Pickles's number; he answered on the second ring, "Pickle, ams Toki and ams in a real pickle," Toki said, glancing around the playground as if the solution was hidden among the swings and the slide somewhere.

"What is it, kid?" Pickles asked. He sounded stone as fuck.

"Skwisgaar falls off de monkey bars—"

Pickles laughed so loud Skwisgaar could hear it, glowering towards Toki while caressing his own ankle. Toki mouthed  _sorries_ and waited for Pickles's laughter to subside.

"Ams not funny, Pickle! He ams hurt, he hurts his ankles, he ams not having insurance and we doesn't know whats to do—"

"Hold up. Why was Skwisgaar  _on_  the monkey bars?"

"We's uh." Toki lowered his voice. "We ams was havings de sex—"

And Pickles's laughter started up again.

Despite Pickles's apparent amusement at the situation, he arrived half an hour later in the passenger seat of Nathan's truck. Nathan was the only one tall enough to support Skwisgaar as he hobbled into the backseat, his ankle unusable at this point, at least according to him. It hadn't swelled or darkened much since the first few minutes after he fell on it and Toki was skeptical, but he held Skwisgaar's hand and petted his hair in the backseat anyway.

They ended up going to the free clinic, since Skwisgaar didn't have insurance and it was only $50 to see a doctor. It was a two hour wait and Nathan and Pickles bailed on them to go eat at Dimmu Burger; Toki wanted to join them, but stayed with Skwisgaar, holding his hand and tuning out his periodic complaints about the terribleness of America's health care system as compared to Sweden's by focusing on the grainy television mounted in the corner playing the news. There'd been a plane crash somewhere; Toki felt a pang of sympathy for the lost lives that he did not for the whining boyfriend beside him.

"Mr. Skwigelf?" Finally, a nurse with a clipboard appeared, furrowing her brow at Skwisgaar's name. Skwisgaar got up to go in and Toki came with him; she looked at him weirdly. "Who're you?"

"Ams his boyfriends," Toki said, narrowing his eyes at her. She was young and attractive and Toki felt aware of the dead weight of Skwisgaar leaning on his side.

The nurse just rolled her eyes. "Fine, whatever, come on."

She led them to a bland room and Toki deposited Skwisgaar on the examining table. Skwisgaar crossed his arms, his legs awkwardly long and feet flat on the ground. Toki sat down in an uncomfortable metal-and-pleather chair across from Skwisgaar, watching Skwisgaar and the nurse.

"We'll take your vitals and the doctor will be with you shortly," the nurse said to Skwisgaar, looking at a clipboard. "You said you have a problem with your ankle?"

"Dat ams corrects," Skwisgaar said, uncrossing his arms so the nurse could clinch a blood pressure cuff around it. Toki felt uncomfortably turned on, watching as the fabric crinkled around Skwisgaar's lean arm and pale skin. He shifted in his seat.

"Blood pressure is 120 over 80. That's literally perfect," the nurse deadpanned. Skwisgaar, of all things, smirked. "Open your mouth." She stuck a thermometer with a plastic cover on it underneath Skwisgaar's tongue, then pulled out. "98.6. That's perfect, too. The doctor will be with you shortly." She deposited the plastic cover on the thermometer in the trash and left the room.

As soon as the door shut, Skwisgaar said, "You hears dat, Toki? Ams perfects."

"You's blood pressures and you's temperature." Toki scoffed. "Dat's barely anthings. Besides, you ams in here because you ams not perfect, remembers? You hurts your ankle." Toki pointed at it.

Skwisgaar sneered at him and laid back on the examining table, his shirt riding up a bit to expose the top of his jeans and his stomach. Toki again felt a weird pang of arousal and busied himself by pulling a magazine out of a wicker basket on the table beside him and reading.

The doctor, who may have been the blandest, whitest guy Toki had ever seen, did not arrive shortly, but after half an hour of further Skwisgaar groans and complaints. He knocked before opening the door; Skwisgaar sat up and rubbed at his eyes while Toki put the magazine back in the wicker basket.

"Mr. Skwigelf," the doctor said as soon as he entered, "What a name. Anyway. What happened to your ankle?" Without further ado, the doctor crouched in front of the examining table and lifts Skwisgaar's jeans up to peer at the ankle in question. When he wraped his hands around the skin, Skwisgaar hisses.

"I fells," Skwisgaar said, simply.

Toki blanched. "He fells off de  _monkey bars_ ," he corrected, "when we were hangings out and goofings on dem."

"Okay," the doctor said, unconcerned with the proper explanation, though Toki still felt uneasy. (How many times had he explained away an injury by saying he fell? He would never do something like that to Skwisgaar.) "Well, you should probably get some x-rays, Mr. Skwigelf." The doctor stood up and jotted something down on his clipboard. "I'll send a radiologist in."

The radiologist was the only timely one in the entire place, it appeared, because he arrived within a few minutes of the doctor's leaving. Toki was not allowed to follow Skwisgaar into the x-ray room, so he picked his magazine up out of the wicker basket and started reading where he left off. It was an old National Geographic with a special on zebras, and Toki was enjoying the pictures when Skwisgaar and the radiologist returned.

Another long passage of time—Toki had lost count by now, and would have to have Nathan's parents call again so his parents wouldn't get mad—until the doctor walked back in. Skwisgaar and Toki passed the time the same way they had been for the last few hours: Skwisgaar complained and Toki ignored him.

"We've looked at the x-rays," the doctor said, taking a seat by the sink in the room and looking at Skwisgaar.

"Ands?" Skwisgaar asked.

"Your ankle isn't broken. It's not even sprained. It's just bruised. You can walk on it, and you'll be fine in a few days." The doctor sighed and put the clipboard down on the desk.

"Ohs."

"Yeah. You can go now."

And so, far too long later for Toki's liking, when the sun was slipping beneath the horizon and throwing colors across the sky, he and Skwisgaar finally left the clinic. Skwisgaar insisted on leaning on Toki and Toki allowed it, though they were both sour from the long wait and snapping at each other while Toki called Pickles and asked for him and Nathan to come back.

"So where're you staying now?" Pickles asked Skwisgaar five minutes down the literal road to Toki's house. The air in the truck was thick and heavy with frustration.

"George's house," Skwisgaar mumbled. "Needs a job to lives with Dick."

"Makes sense," Nathan said. Pickles glared at him.

The rest of the ride was quiet and by the time Toki got home, it was dark. He filled with dread and trepidation, stealing a kiss from Skwisgaar even if Skwisgaar did not return it because they were pissy, or whatever. There was a reason Toki did not go on these weekday excursions that often, and that reason was that he would still be expected to perform his daily chores, which would push him to stay up past his bedtime and get a terrible night's sleep. He glared at Skwisgaar, cursing him as he got out of the truck, not bothering to say a goodbye to any of the guys even though Pickles shouted one at him.

Wednesday chores were not as difficult as other day's; he had to clean the kitchen, wash the windows and do laundry. But laundry was time-consuming and washing the windows proved difficult in the dark. Toki felt that he'd scrubbed his fingers to their bones after washing dishes and waiting for the laundry to be clean; it was already eight thirty and he was not allowed dinner until he finished his chores. He was exhausted and aware that he was not going to get any homework done, falling asleep with his wrists plunged in dishwater.

So it could be said that Toki was not feeling fondly of Skwisgaar. Skwisgaar did not come to visit Toki that night and that was fine by Toki, cocooning himself in his blankets in his dark room. He'd gone to bed without dinner that night because his father deemed his chores rushed and unsatisfactory, Toki sentenced to a lash across the back. Everything hurt and Toki was tired, so tired, he let the wave of sleep claim him without complaint.

"God, you look miserable," was Nathan's warm greeting at school the next day, milling around with the group and waiting for classes to start.

Toki shut him up with a piercing look.

As usual in time of duress, Toki turned to Pickles. They split off from the rest of the guys at lunch after Toki requesting to do so in fourth period, sitting outside in the hallway where Toki had had so many crises previously. Toki was sent to school without lunch, too, and Pickles split the Publix sub he'd brought in two with Toki, lettuce on their lips as they talked.

"Skwisgaar's a drama queen," Pickles said, after Toki finished complaining about Skwisgaar, his drama, how he made him be late and his ankle wasn't even broken. "You just gotta get used to that."

"I knows," Toki sighed, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. "But what abouts de phones things?"

"Do you think he's cheating on you?"

"What?" Toki sputtered. "Noes! Da tams ridiculouses! He tolds me he loves me!"

"Alright, alright, calm down, kid." Pickles wiped his mouth, getting rid of mayonnaise that had collected there. "Some guys just like their privacy. You haven't been dating  _that_  long."

"But we ams in love, Pickle," Toki said, blinking his eyes at him.

Pickles sighed and ruffled Toki's hair. "Look, Skwisgaar ain't gonna apologize. He's too proud for that and in his mind, he's done nothing wrong."

"I misses him alreadys," Toki sighed, moved past his anger and in a point of all-consuming sadness. Or maybe that was the lack of energy from his lack of food, Pickles's sandwich not yet hitting his stomach. Whatever it was, these words coming out of Toki's mouth gave him an idea. "Be rights back!"

Toki dashed into the nearest bathroom, thinking about the time he'd had phone sex with Skwisgaar, and pulled his phone out. Instead of anything  _naughty_ , though, he took the best selfie he could with the lack of front camera and texted it to Skwisgaar, captioning it  _I MISSES YOU! I'S SORRY! XOXOXOXOXO_. He waited in the bathroom, heart slamming with nerves, until Skwisgaar responded.

It was a dick pic, of course, the caption  _me toos_ , but in Skwisgaar's language that was an  _I love you_. Feeling satisfied, Toki left the bathroom and returned to lunch.

The weekend came and, according to what Skwisgaar had said on the phone when they talked, Skwisgaar had been unable both to come to Toki's window and to look for a job because of his ankle. Toki came to him instead that Saturday, getting a ride with Nathan. George lived only ten minutes away from Toki, also in the nice part of town, in an elegant two-story home with a sports car and a mommy-ish SUV parked outside. Toki was a little nervous, afraid George's parents will answer, but instead it was George himself, heavy bags under his lidded eyes.

"God, tell me you're here to get him off my couch," George deadpanned, leading Toki inside.

The house reminded him of Charles's, in that it was very nice and very beige with a very similar floorplan. Skwisgaar was where George said he would be: on a plush cream-colored couch, his ankle propped up on the glass coffee table with an ice pack tied to it, wearing loose black boxer shorts and a wife-beater. His guitar was in his lap, but Skwisgaar was not playing it; in fact, he appeared to be asleep, snoring with a jerk as Toki entered the room.

"Ugh, Skwis, wake the fuck up," George said, shaking Skwisgaar by the shoulder while Toki just stood there, horrified at the state of his boyfriend.

Skwisgaar groaned something in Swedish and swatted George's hand away, his head rolling and eyes not even opening.

"Skwisgaars! Ams me!" Toki hissed, coming to his side. He kicked him in his uninjured shin.

 _That_  woke Skwisgaar up, his fingers playing a furious fret as he came to. "Tokis," he muttered, still not all there yet, "de fucks am yous doingks here?"

"Ams getting yous a job and offs de couch, assholes!" Toki said. He kicked Skwisgaar's shin again, for good measure.

"But mines ankles!" Skwisgaar whined, fingers moving over the guitar. Behind the couch, George rolled his eyes.

"Fucks you's ankles!" Toki shoved it off the cushion on the coffee table; Skwisgaar forgot to whimper until a few seconds after that. "Sees? Amns't hurts! You's using it as an excuse because you don'ts wants to gets a job!"

"It's like that one Offspring song," George offered. " _Hey, man, why don't you get a job_? I'm being serious. Get a job and get out of my house."

"Don't quotes dat shit band's lyrics at me!" Skwisgaar yelled. "And stays out of dis! It ams betweens me and Tokis!" He was coming to his feet now, putting his weight on the uninjured ankle, and resting his guitar gently on the couch.

"No, it's kind of between me, too. This is my house."

"Fuck's you hosue, den!" Toki yelled, also. George was unimpressed, and then Toki felt bad. "Wait, noes sorries, dis ams a very nice house and I ams sures your moms is a very nice ladies—"

"When'd my mom come into this?"

"I doesn't know! It ams all Skwisgaar's fault! Comes on, Skwisgaars, we ams getting' yous a job."

Skwisgaar groaned and grumbled but allowed himself to be pulled by the arm by Toki. George followed them, and Toki was at the front door before he realized that Skwisgaar was wearing boxers and his hair was a mess, and he shouted in frustration. Skwisgaar jerked his arm out of Toki's grip and mumbled something about going to take a shower, but Toki stopped him.

"You wills puts on a pair of pants and puts you's hair in a ponytail," Toki said, stern. He was sort of giddy, even if Skwisgaar was being a dick at the moment, happy to direct him. He was even giddier when Skwisgaar complied, disappearing for a few minutes and reappearing with his hair in a ponytail and a pair of black skinny jeans and his trademark white Converse on his body.

"That's amazing," George said to Toki, wide-eyed.

Toki crossed his arms and nodded, smug.

At the request of Toki, Nathan had waited outside George's house and promised to drop Skwisgaar and Toki off downtown for job-hunting purposes. "Hurry up, guys," Nathan growled while they were getting into the backseat, "I can't miss my date with Rebecca."

Rebecca was Nathan's new girlfriend, a cheerleader that Toki thought was kind of a bitch. Nathan had switched from eating lunch with the guys to eating lunch with her at the cheerleader's table with a couple of other football guys. Football season was long dead, but that mentality stuck around. Everybody was a little annoyed by this development, a little concerned, nobody more so than Pickles, but Nathan told them that, hey, getting laid was getting laid. Rebecca called Nathan as they drove, ushering an awkward air into the car, Skwisgaar and Toki making faces at each other to comment on various parts of the conversation.

Skwisgaar and Toki left Nathan's truck in the shopping and restaurant district downtown. Toki was always seeing  _HELP WANTED_  and  _NOW HIRING_  signs there, always wishing he could get a job, so he figured this would probably be the best place for  _Skwisgaar_  to find a job. They walked up and down the avenues, holding hands, Skwisgaar picking up applications at every place with a sign proclaiming an opening in the window. When they were done with that they headed down by the water, sitting on the seawall and Toki helping Skwisgaar with his job applications.

"Dis ams so  _stupids_ ," Skwisgaar moaned. "So lames! I doesn't want to sells knicks-knocks!"

"You has to, though," Toki said, taking the application that was in Skwisgaar's lap and uncapping the pen they'd been passing back and forth with his teeth. Toki had a much better grip on English and, after Skwisgaar failed at failing out the first job application, had been doing them for him. The employer wouldn't know the difference between their handwriting, after all. "Dis one wants to know you's favorite memory."

"Fuckins you." Skwisgaar sneered. Toki just looked at him. "Fines, fines! Gettingks my first guitars!"

Toki wrote down  _My most favored memory was getting my first guitar._ and asked Skwisgaar to elaborate.

"I was thirteens and in Sweden. I went to dis school dat had a music program dat gave poor kids instruments and taught dem how to play dem. Dey told me I could plays de guitars, de trumpets, or de pianos, and I chose de guitars." Skwisgaar was looking out into the water, head turned away from Toki, and Toki paused in translating these sentences to turn Skwisgaar's head towards him. Skwisgaar was sort of weepy in the eyes, not crying but close, the blue bluer.

"Skwisgaars," Toki said, and still holding Skwisgaar's chin, he kissed him.

When they finished with the job applications they retraced their steps and dropped them off. One was for the sex store Skwisgaar had taken Toki on their first date, which brought back a flood of emotions, most prominent of them arousal. Skwisgaar went to buy something and Toki stopped him, telling him he needed to save money, now that he didn't have any form of income. "I's gettingks a jobs soon, doe, Toki."

"You doesn't know dat for sure," Toki admonished, and moving his hand from Skwisgaar's wrist to interlock their fingers, they exited the store hand-in-hand.

It took a week for Skwisgaar to hear back from his applications, and from then on he had a barrage of interviews. Toki was unable to help Skwisgaar, so instead Skwisgaar spent a lot of time with Dick, who said he was good at talking. It must have paid off because in another week Skwisgaar had a new job: working the cash register at a local bakery.

This job came with a uniform that, the first time Toki saw it, made him spill giggles into his hands. Skwisgaar had to wear a dainty apron with scalloping around the edges and a clear visor with his hair in a ponytail—it looked ridiculous on him, though Toki liked the overall aesthetic. But, this job also came with a paycheck, and Skwisgaar was able to move in to his apartment. He did so that weekend, when Nathan's truck and Toki were available.

Not having been in America that long and not that interested in anything besides his music, Skwisgaar did not have a lot of possessions to his name. His wardrobe—composed of jeans, tank-tops, oversized t-shirts, three pairs of shoes (beat-up white Converse, combat boots and a recent purchase, classic white and black Adidas) and the Swedish belt buckle on the plain belt—fit into two cardboard boxes. His other nonmusical things were another box full of a variety of detritus—earrings, notebooks, pictures, odds and ends—and the fish he had bought at the pet store, somehow alive and well and swimming happily in his bowl. Toki was entrusted with the fish; Skwisgaar carried everything else to Dick's apartment himself, taking a few trips back and forth from Nathan's truck.

"Well, dat's all," Skwisgaar said, standing on the sidewalk and squinting in the sun, to Nathan. "Thanks for de truck."

"No problem, man. Bye." And Nathan drove off.

Skwisgaar and Toki returned to the apartment, then just stood in the middle of it, looking at each other. Dick was not expected back for a while and they had nowhere to be themselves. Toki, an idea coming to mind, turned to Skwisgaar. "Let's breaks this place in."

"You means—" Skwisgaar quirked both his lip and his eyebrow.

"A blanket forts!"

Half an hour later and they had constructed a formidable blanket fort, using every blanket in Dick's apartment (he was a blanket guy, it seemed, and they kept finding them everywhere), the couch and some miscellaneous chairs. They raided Dick's kitchen and found some snacks and also some weed, which they brought into the blanket fort with them. Even with the lights on, it was dark and warm inside their blanket fort, and Toki wished he had some fairy lights to string up and a laptop so they could watch Netflix. But they did not, so instead they smoked their weed and ate their snacks, lazily making out in the interim.

Making out evolved, of course, to sex, Skwisgaar fucking Toki in long, lazy strokes against the soft, plush blanket they'd put down to form the floor of their blanket fort. Toki ended up coming on it, which he did not realize was a problem until a few minutes later, when the stain dried and became quite apparent.

"Fucks," Toki groaned, seeing it. "We needs to clean dat—"

Skwisgaar looked at him like he was talking gibberish. "Whats? Noes. Ams goingks to sleep." He rolled away from the stain and started snoring gas if on cue.

Toki smacked him. "Noes, Skwisgaar!" He struggled with words, and then realized that he was stoned as fuck in addition to being tired and hazy post-orgasm. This was a disaster; maybe he should call Pickles. Would Pickles know how to do laundry? What was he thinking? Toki knew how to do laundry, he did it every Wednesday. "We's goin's to the laundry room."

"Noes," Skwisgaar moaned, between snores. "Dere's creeps down there."

"It ams, like, four in de afternoon," Toki said, rubbing at his eyes. "No creeps do de laundry now."

" _All_  de creeps do de laundry now," Skwisgaar protested, rolling to face Toki. His lips were drawn into a pout, which made Toki burst out laughing.

Toki stopped himself, though, remembering the situation. "Looks—doesn't know how to say dis right now—it will be a good gestures! To shows Dicks! Dat you ams appreciating de apartment and—it ams our responsibilities!" He went from giggly to the verge of tears, feeling like getting the semen out of Dick's plush baby blue blanket was the most important thing in the world right now.

A crying Toki proved persuasive, and so he and Skwisgaar disassembled the blanket fort, dumping everything in the middle of the living room (they had good intentions, but were a bit too incapacitated to clean properly.) Skwisgaar bundled the blanket in his arms and they headed downstairs to the laundry room (which was empty, no creeps in sight), where Skwisgaar promptly dumped the blanket into the washing machine and closed the lid.

"Uh, Skwisgaars?" Toki said. Skwisgaar was staring at the laundry machine, expectant. "Has you ever dones de laundry before?"

"Of course!" His tone Toki that he had not.

Toki groaned and rubbed his forehead. His fucking boyfriend, man. He went through the motions of teaching Skwisgaar to do laundry, explaining to him that this was important now that he was sort of living on his own and that Dick could not be expected to do his laundry for him. Toki didn't even want to know how he did it before, and they ended up sitting on top of the other washing machine and making out while the blanket tumbled away.

Dick was back in the apartment by the time the blanket was laundered, standing behind the couch and staring down at the pile of blankets nnd chairs occupying his living room floor. When Skwisgaar and Toki entered the apartment, Skwisgaar opening the door with his own key, Dick looked up at them. "Guys," he said, exasperated.

"Sorries," Skwisgaar said. He walked over to Dick and dumped the blanket on his feet. "Washed de cum out of you's blankets, doe."

"That was my  _favorite_ ," Dick groaned.

Toki giggled. This was going to be  _good_.


End file.
